Polaris
by di.meliora
Summary: An intervention of pagan forces splits the brothers when they are young. Growing up apart and alone what will they do to be reunited, and how will they fight what is considered their destiny?
1. Good Morning

A/N: This is my first attempt at a chapter fic for this slash. It'll borrow heavily from several mythologies. Sorry ahead of time for the eye-dialect. I've never been any good at it. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Dad's ETA is three hours when the doorknob jiggles. Dean's just finished brushing his teeth, has already gotten Sam to bed, and is leaving the bathroom when he hears the sound. It's not dad early, he knows that much, because dad is always on time. _Always_. The sound is easy to identify, Dean's heard it a million times as his father patiently tells him what he's doing right and what he's doing wrong, so he crosses the room on silent bare feet and shakes Sammy once very softly. His brother wakes with an open mouth and blurry eyes, little fists rubbing the sleep away as he looks up at Dean. It's rare for Dean to wake him, so Sam doesn't ask any questions out loud. His little brother is as close to high alert as he can get when he's this tired, and Dean's damn proud of him. He leads Sam across the room, opens the little cabinet beneath the sink and pushes him in before closing the door behind him and re-crossing the room. When he reaches the bed he picks up the gun his father left them and disengages the safety.

Human or monster, no one is supposed to come in when it's just him and Sammy.

When the door finally swings open the man on the other side is a complete stranger. The light from the bathroom is enough to highlight the square shape of his face, the bulk of his shoulders, and the grim set of his mouth. He's so focused on the task of being quiet he misses that Dean is standing there with the gun aimed until it's too late. He's crossed the salt line though, and that gives Dean a moment of pause. He's been trained to handle every evil thing that they hunt, and they don't hunt humans. Still, Sammy is in the cabinet. Sam is there and he won't stay there long because he's Sam. So Dean has to scare this guy off as quickly as possible.

The man grins, mouth curled into something that suggests more cruelty than joy, and then he holds up one hand and speaks in a heavily accented voice. Dean recognizes the accent, has heard it in James Bond movies and countless Star Trek episodes. "You vouldn't shoot me vould you leedle boy?" Russian, and not long off the boat by the thickness of it. He tries to figure out what this could possibly mean. Dad's not chasing anything Russian. They're here to go after an incredibly run of the mill poltergeist, and there's no way this man is connected to that.

Dean raises the gun a little higher and goes over every single one of the things his dad has taught him in the last few years. The first and most important lesson keeps repeating in his head. _Don't pick up the gun unless you plan on firing_. He waits for the man to take another step and then cocks the hammer back. "Mister I'll shoot you. Leave now."

The man isn't smiling anymore, isn't even pretending to care about begin nice. Instead he keeps both hands in Dean's sightline and glances around the room. "You vouldn't shoot me. I am just a man. Put the gun down."

He takes the next step and Dean doesn't hesitate. He keeps the gun pointed at the ten ring just like his dad taught him and pulls the trigger. It's not easy, but it's necessary and he can do it. Can do whatever it takes because Sammy's in the damn cabinet and there's no telling when he'll come out. Honestly despite crossing the salt line, despite what he said, Dean still kind of expects the man to stay up. To keep on his feet and keep coming just like the monsters are always supposed to. Instead the man crumples to the dingy and cigarette burned carpet, and Dean's left standing there with a gun in his hands and a murdered man on the floor.

There's a heavy silence now in the aftermath of the gunshot, and Dean has time to think that there's going to be a silence hanging over him the rest of his life before the second man rushes through the doorway and grabs him by the throat. Whatever the first guy was, this one doesn't even look vaguely human when he lifts Dean off the floor. He's dizzy, dizzier than is warranted for this short of a choking and his legs kick helplessly at the man as one broad hand grips Dean's small throat. His eyes travel over the man's angular face, past his thickly muscled shoulder to land on the cabinet. He sees the door open, sees Sammy peeking out at him, and has just enough strength to shake his head.

Of course Sam doesn't listen. He charges out of the cabinet at top speed and begins to punch the man with his tiny fists. Dean is both exasperated with and proud of Sam in that moment. Sam's face is screwed up in rage, and he hits ineffectually shouting the whole time, "Let go! Let go of my brother!"

As the light dims, as the world slips away from him Dean sees Sammy go flying, and his heart seizes in his chest as blackness claims him.

* * *

When he wakes up it's dark and he can't figure out why for a moment. There's the familiar sensation of movement, tires eating up the road as a car speeds along its path. He's woken to that sensation so much that it takes him a little bit to know that it's off, wrong. There's no Sammy pressed against him, no leather seat beneath him, and no sound of dad's music softly playing on the stereo. His throat hurts a lot, and he goes to rub it but finds that his hands are tied behind his back. This is bad, as bad as it's ever been, and he peers into the darkness trying to decipher where he has woken up. He can just make out lines, and he feels with his bare feet to find a slightly fuzzy texture that is somewhat familiar to him. This is a trunk. The size of it suggests a luxury sedan instead of the classic car he's used to, and the sound is too smooth to be the Impala's engine. He tries to use his feet to find the handle that newer cars often have, the last line of defense for car-jacking victims, but if it was ever there it's been removed. There's nothing in the trunk with him, he's unarmed, so he's on his own here.

Dad's taught him how to tense himself when he gets tied up, to makes sure that when he releases he'll have enough room to wiggle out of his rope, but he was unconscious when the kidnapper bound him so the ropes are too tight for that. Instead Dean runs his fingers over the material and is surprised to find they're made of hemp, plaited instead of wound, and that's pretty goddamn old-school. Desperation, the memory of Sammy being thrown down, forces him to begin struggling. It's a careful balance of keeping his energy and expending it to get free. Dad's taught him the best thing is to prepare yourself, wind up like a spring, and then when they open the door you surprise them. He can feel the ropes rubbing his wrists raw, feels blood and is silently thankful. Lubrication will help him slide free.

The right wrist comes out first, and Dean leaves the left wrist bound so he can use it as a anchor and the rope as a weapon. He stretches it taught and crouches down as best he can, preparing for when the trunk opens and he will strike. The car turns, right, right, left, and then comes to a slow stop, and Dean hears a garage door rumbling shut. When the trunk lid pops he waits, waits to see the man's legs through the slit, but they never come. He stays crouched for what feels like forever, is probably six or seven minutes, and then pushes the trunk lid up and looks around. The garage is empty of everything except the Cadillac he's just come from. He looks in the backseat and the front, but there's no kidnapper crouched down and no Sam. _No Sam anywhere_. The door to the outside has three locks on it, all deadbolts, and Dean has no tools to pick them with. To make matters worse there are no windows, and when he lifts the liner of the trunk up to look into the well there's no jack and no tire iron. Not even a spare. He grips the rope a bit tighter and heads for the only door that's there, the one that is open just a bit. It leads into a brick-floored room with shelves filled with boots and coats. As far as Dean can tell from size and style they all belong to a woman, and he moves low to the ground and quiet just like dad taught him. He hears bubbling, the sound of water boiling in a pot, and a grumbling male voice speaking in what he assumes is Russian.

When he steps through the next open door he finds himself in a big and well-lit kitchen. The man that took him is sitting at a table, rubbing his neck and looking ashamed. The woman standing in front of the stove though, she's Dean's main focus the minute he sees her. She's dressed in an old-fashioned gown, ankle-length and heavily decorated. She's got an olive complexion, eyes so dark blue they could be black, hair to match, and angular features that swim somewhere between beautiful and severe. She purses dark red lips as she considers Dean, and then drops a few items into the pot before turning to the man at the table. She speaks in the same language, just as heavily accented as his, and her words carry the tone of a disappointed school-teacher to her least favorite student. When the man stands up and takes a step forward Dean feels dizzy, nauseous, and he steps back and slams into the wall behind him.

The woman tilts her head, almost smiles when Dean lifts the rope again in warning, and then holds a knife out to the big man waiting for him to take it so she can turn back to the pot and whatever it is she's boiling. The man takes one more step towards Dean and he grips the rope tighter. If he's going to die here he'll go down fighting, but first he needs to make sure Sammy is ok. He's about to speak, to force words through his abused throat and demand they show him his little brother, but before he can another woman steps in and shouts a harsh word in Russian. There's silence in the kitchen now except for the water boiling, and Dean sees the dark woman look towards the window and narrow her eyes at the slight lightening of the sky outside.

The girl in the doorway is younger, maybe just out of her teens, and dressed in a similar fashion to the lady at the stove. She's pretty in a softer way, skin smooth and porcelain colored, lips pale pink, and a bushy mass of golden hair swarming around her face. She looks like she just woke up, hands rubbing at her golden eyes and mouth moving in a yawn before it forms words. She speaks in English the second time, her accent slight and soft, rolling the vowels out a little too long. "I claim him."

The man with the knife looks in between the two of them, indecision written in every line of his expression. The dark lady steps forward, one finger pointing and her words in English now too, but hard and harsh. "You are making a mistake. Ve vill kill him and then take care of the other one."

Dean realizes what this means, and there's a flood of relief mixed in with his fear. They didn't get Sammy. They didn't get him, but they're planning to. He grips the rope and steps forwards, but the dizziness washes over him hard and he hits the wall again. The golden-eyed girl looks him up and down and then turns to the kidnapper. "Blud. Leave immediately. Your time is done."

As if it was a magic spell the man disappears, the knife clattering to the floor, and Dean snatches it up before either lady can go for it. His nausea and dizziness it already gone, a fading memory leaving him with nothing but desperation. He lets the rope trail and holds the knife up in the Hammer grip his dad taught him. Dean takes a second, swallows hard against the lingering pain in his throat, and then gestures at them with the knife.

"Nobody hurts Sam." He can barely speak above a whisper, and it shouldn't be heard over the boiling of the pot but it is. The golden girl smiles softly, the dark woman's lips sneer, and Dean's in so much agony after only that he's pretty sure they made him swallow glass while he was asleep.

"Fine. No one hurts Sam. I will claim both of you." The golden girl smiles as if this is the perfect solution, but Dean's pretty sure he doesn't want to be claimed. The dark woman's reaction is immediate, violent, and she throws her spoon down and tips over the pot. The soupy mixture inside of it goes hissing across the burner and the stove, there's a minor flare-up of fire, and then she's standing in the boiling liquid with her chest heaving and her finger pointed again at the younger woman.

"How dare you. How. Dare. You. Daz vill never allow this." She waves one hand and begins speaking in rapid Russian, her dark eyes moving between Dean, the golden girl, and the window where the sun is rapidly rising. She stops mid-sentence, all the fire going out of her almost instantly as the sunlight becomes full morning instead of dawn. She's holding herself up by the countertop as her eyes roll back to the golden girl and rest on her. "Daz vill never allow this." There's no strength left in her voice now, and the golden girl moves forward and takes her elbow gently before leading her away from the stove and the spilled soup.

"Daz will have to allow it sister. They are both eligible, and this is my time. I am within my rights. Go to bed Vecher. To bed. It is very late for you." Her voice is soothing, soft, and the dark woman lets herself be led to the doorway and then released. She totters down the hall and then it is only Dean and the golden girl.

He watches her cross back over to the fridge and pull out a bottle of water. She places it on the table and then steps back and gestures at it. "Please. Sit Dean Winchester, and we will discuss what all of this means for you."

Dean stares at her warily and then goes to the bottle of water, never relinquishing his grip on the knife even as he fumbles with one bloody hand to unscrew the cap and drink. It's cold, and wonderful, but he keeps it to small sips just as dad taught him. When he's done it's a little easier to speak. "I want Sam."

Her eyes are sad now, and so bright it's almost hard to look at them. He does anyway, keeps his gaze locked with hers because he'll be damned if she'll lower his guard and then sneak up on him. "I know you do. I know you do sweetling but you cannot have him. You can never return to your brother."

Dean wants to cry. It's the first reaction and the hardest to resist. There's so much finality in her voice that he can't stand it, but he pushes forwards anyway, eyes wet but no tears dropping. "Why? Is Sammy gonna be alright?"

She pushes herself up so she's sitting on the countertop, her legs swinging from it and her feet tapping lightly against the cabinet doors. "Sam will be just fine. I have claimed him as my own, and no one will touch him. It is the same with you. As for the why…do you know what destiny is sweetling?"

Dean nods and then sits. He doesn't have enough fight left for much more. If she comes at him, or her crazy sister comes back he'll use the knife as best he can. In the meantime he needs to sit. His throat still hurts, his wrists are burning, and he's working hard to look tough. She lets him get by with just the nod and watches him swallow more water before she speaks.

"Destiny is intent that your brother is going to be a part of something very important. Something my sister and I are supposed to stop that something. My sister believed that the way to do this was to kill your little brother."

She stops as if she's expecting it, and if she was Dean doesn't disappoint. He pushes up from the table and drops the knife in his anxiety. "She can't-you can't let her-I gotta get to Sammy. He's alone." The panic is overwhelming, so much so that it takes him a while to realize that if the sun is coming up dad has long since arrived. They must be looking for him. Dad will probably find him any minute. Which is when it occurs to Dean that the best course of action is to wait for that. He may not like the idea of being rescued, but if it's his only option then he'll let it happen.

"She will not kill your brother. I have claimed him for my own, like I told you, and he is under my protection now. Which is why it will be my plan we now implement. We will keep you away from your brother. This, I believe, will stop your brother's destiny."

_Destiny_. It's a heavy word and it has Dean sitting again. What could Sammy possibly be destined to do that would concern them? Sammy's tiny, innocent, and so sweet it hurts sometimes to think what the world will do to him one day. What will happen when he knows the truth about what's around him.

"What's Sammy gonna do? Why are you gonna stop it?"

At this she pushed off the counter, landed lightly on her bare feet and crossed the room so that she could sit across from Dean and put her chin in her hands. It made her look much younger, and Dean was fairly certain she was the prettiest woman he'd seen since mom. "I will tell you a story sweetling. It is fairly long, but very important. When I am done we will see if it has answered your questions."

She tapped her jaw once thoughtfully and then nodded, eyes focusing in on him as he took the next swallow. "A long time ago there were two little girls. They were sisters, and they were different as night and day. Once they were old enough their father gave them a terrible task. A burden that was to consume their lives entirely, but both sisters believed in their father, and they believed in the work he wanted them to do…"

When the story is finished Dean goes to take a long swallow of his water and realizes he's finished it somewhere in the middle. He understands what she's hinting at, gets the implications just fine really, but applying it to Sam is a little harder. "Sammy would never…that couldn't happen."

She tilts her head and stares at him for a long time, her face considering and open. Whatever she sees makes her smile once and then nod and lower her hands to the table. "I believe that this is the way to stop this outcome. I also know it is the only way to keep Samuel safe. It is ultimately your decision whether or not you go back to him, but if you do he will never be safe. My protection can only exist while the two of you are apart. Eventually someone outside my family will come up with the same plan my sister had."

Dean thinks about that for a while. It has more than a ring of truth, and so far the girl has been nothing but nice and considerate. That doesn't mean she's good, it just means she's easier to get along with than her bitchy sister. If she's right though… Dean doesn't want to say it out loud because it feels like a betrayal, but Sam's come first for seven years, and Dean's not willing to change that habit now. "But if…without me Sammy only has dad. Dad's-" He swallows hard, and she looks so damn sympathetic and understanding it makes him a little angry.

Her fingers stroke the table idly as she considers this. "I am no prophetess, no seer of visions, but I would imagine your father will leave your little brother with someone who can care for him properly. I can keep an eye on him for this purpose, and if he does not we can do something about it. Would that ease your fears Dean Winchester?"

He nods once and she smiles brightly. Her delicate little hand comes out, and Dean sees how the sunlight seems to catch her eyes. How it reflects back like two little miniature suns staring at him. He winces from the light and then it's gone. He considers her hand for a long time before he takes it, and when they shake she lifts his hand afterwards and kisses the palm. "We must clean these wounds. I think-"

A hard male voice calls from beyond the doorway, something in Russian that Dean can't understand, and she stands abruptly before leaving the table without a word. She's gone for several minutes, and Dean can hear the conversation fairly clearly although it doesn't do him much good. She says the name she and her sister said earlier, _Daz_, several times. When she's finished she comes back into the kitchen and her face is slightly paler. Her smile has a tight quality Dean recognizes all too well, diplomatic and strained with no feeling behind it.

"I am afraid your wrists must wait a little bit longer. We are to leave immediately. This new place will be our home, and you will be safe there. Is that alright with you?"

Dean studies the way her hands tremble at her sides, how lost and unsure she looks, and for some reason it makes him feel much the way he feels when Sammy has that expression. "You're in trouble." He doesn't have to be an adult to see that or to understand it. He's been in trouble enough times as it is. "You're in trouble because you're helping me."

She glanced once at the doorway and then settled her eyes back on Dean. "Yes. Let us leave now before the punishment is worse than banishment."

* * *

So Dean leaves with her. They take the same Cadillac, and Dean is relieved when she turns the radio on and it plays classic rock just like dad would. She sings along sometimes, voice low and sweet, and Dean feels himself drifting off somehow. Despite the intensity of the situation, despite the weirdness of it, he's ready to simply lay back if that's what's required. If she's telling the truth about checking up on Sam then maybe this will be alright. Dean's not sure about her claims, about Sam's _destiny_, but he remembers the night of the fire well enough to know that there's something about Sam that carries a weight.

There's nothing easy about not being with Sam though. No one knows how bad his little brother's nightmares get, and they won't know how to soothe him. They won't know that he has to be held, head to heartbeat, and that he has to be rocked while you rub his back counterclockwise. It's almost a science between them at this point, and Dean knows the entire ritual so well he can do it half-asleep. They won't know that sometimes Sam likes his milk on the side of his cereal, or that he can't have his food touching other food. On top of all of that is the longing Dean suddenly feels, strange and heavy, to simply see Sam _one more time_. To know that he's alright, that the man didn't hurt him too much, that he understands what Dean is doing for him. He can't stand the idea that Sam will think he abandoned him. As if she senses it, the golden girl pulls over at a gas station and picks up a pay phone handset. She dials a long string of numbers and then offers it to Dean without a word.

The phone rings twice and then Sam answers. It's like a damn miracle. His little brother sounds tired, strained, and infinitely sad. "Winchester."

Dean swallows the sudden onset of tears and looks over to her bright and shining eyes. "Hey Sammy. It's Dean. How are you kiddo?"

"Dean? Dean where are you? Dad's looking for you!" Sam's voice is instantly brighter, full of hope and love. It makes holding the tears back that much harder. He can see Sam in his mind's eye, still dressed in his over-sized sleep shirt and bare foot. Sam twisting the phone cord around one tiny finger and smiling in that way that makes the world a little more bearable every time.

"Can't tell you that Sammy. Can't tell you much of anything other than I'm alright, and I've gotta go away. Listen kid if I-I love you Sam. More than anything. Don't ever forget that ok? But I gotta do this for everybody. Tell dad I'm sorry."

There's silence for a moment, and then a harsh intake of breath that Dean knows is the precursor to tears. "Dean? Dean was I bad? I'm sorry I hid! I'm sorry! Please don't leave I'll be-"

He has to cut Sam off, has to, because every word is a new knife in his heart. "No. No Sam you weren't bad. You were never bad. This isn't your fault ok? It's mine. I gotta do this to keep us both safe. Don't ever think it's your fault Sammy 'cause it ain't. Now tell me you love me."

Sam sucks in one wet breath before the next, and then says thickly, "Love you Dean. Always. Always."

He rubs at his eyes and feels about a hundred years old and lower than dirt. "You too kiddo. I'll be watching out for you. Always."

He hangs up before anything else can be said, before Sam breaks his resolve to stay away. The golden girl seems to understand, doesn't try to touch him or comfort him. Instead she gets back into the car, and pointedly looks away while Dean sobs and bangs his fist against the pay phone. When he gets back in the car with her he's dry-eyed and resolute.

"Where are we going?"

"Maryland. A town called Finksburg." Her fingers tap restlessly on the wheel as she turns off the major highway and gets onto a smaller one. "We will have to stop at nightfall. I am not my best during those hours."

"What'll we be doing there?" He watches her fingers, watches how sometimes she pats and sometimes she strokes, watches her face for clues as to how she's feeling. He's not getting a whole lot off of her, and he's usually pretty good at reading faces.

"Running a bar. It will be hard work, but I believe that we can do it. Is that alright with you?"

It's not the first time she's asked this question, and Dean's torn on how to answer. It isn't, not really, because anything that requires making Sam cry isn't alright. Still, it has to be because there's nothing else to do. Because maybe she's right, and him staying will put Sam into danger in the future.

"What's your name?"

She smiles once, bright and fleeting like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. "You may call me Utre. It is close enough for government papers."

Dean bites back a laugh and looks ahead to the road sprawling in front of them. Watches the clouds race through the sky and the trees buzz past. "Work. Close enough for government _work_ Utre."

She waves her hand in a noncommittal gesture. "Whatever."

She sleeps like the dead at night, and it occurs to Dean that if he wanted to he could run. The problem is that the longer he stays near her the more he believes that she's right. That Sam has a destiny, and that it's not good. It hurts, it hurts like he always imagined dying would, but he has to do it. Has to protect Sam. So he stays up at night staring at the phones in the motel rooms they're in and wondering what Sam's doing. What dad's doing. What everyone is doing, and if his phone call only incited his father's concern, or if it lessened it just a bit.

He wonders if dad will start training Sam. If Sam will one day be the hunter Dean always thought he would be. It's unlikely really, but more importantly Dean doesn't want it to happen. He wants Sam to stay _Sam_. Big eyes all full of brimming child-like wonder. He wants Sam to stay as untouched as he possibly can. Some nights it's so hard to not call them that Dean has to clench his fists and sit on his hands, bouncing in place to keep himself from moving just those few feet to the phone. When she wakes in the morning, always morning just as the sun begins to rise, she'll look at him without asking. Whether it's because she knows the answer, or if she just trusts him not to Dean never asks. He wants it to be the second, but he suspects the first is equally true.

The last day of their trip, as they're crossing the border into Maryland, Dean leans over and turns down the volume on Foghat. "What did you mean when you said Sam and I qualified to be claimed?"

She taps the wheel for a few seconds to the beat of the song and then glances his way once. "You are warriors. Warriors fall underneath my purview."

"Your what?" Dean hates and loves it when she uses these words. Hates that he has to ask, and loves that he can file them away to use in the future. Dad always taught him that sharpening your mind was as important as sharpening your knives.

"Purview. My domain. I am in charge of caring for and paying attention to certain things, and warriors are one of them. Because you are both warriors I can claim you and protect you." She smiles once, almost wistfully, and then her mouth straightens as she changes lanes to go around an accident on the side of the road. Dean watches the lady from one car shout at the lady from another, and then turns his attention back to what she's saying.

"Wait. Ok. I can see me, but how's Sammy a warrior?" He pictures Sam again as he usually does these days, little scrawny legs and chubby cheeks drowning in cotton.

"Are you familiar with the concept of loopholes sweetling?"

He frowns at the nickname even though he's gotten to like it a bit. "Yes. Ways around a rule. Dad uses them all the time."

Her grin is contagious. "Yes. Very good. Well I had a loophole. Your father gave your brother a gun to shoot at the monster in the closet. Sam took up a weapon in his defense, and that is the trait of a warrior."

Dean has to laugh, can't help it, and her smile broadens when he does. "But there wasn't anything there. And Sammy never fired he just held the gun and cried."

"Ah yes, this is so, but is it not also so that he looked into the closet while he held it?" Her eyebrow arches as she asks, turning onto another backroad and speeding up a bit.

"Well…yeah he did. Does that really count?"

"For the purposes of this, yes it does. I was not challenged, so I do not have to argue it much. Once the claim is cemented it cannot be undone."

Dean watches road signs fly by for a while without talking, but she doesn't turn the volume back up. He's fairly certain she expects the next question. "How's he doing?"

If she talks to anyone about it Dean's never seen it, but he knows by now she doesn't lie to him. Not even when he wants her too. Her answer proves that to be true.

"He cries a good deal. Your father has left him with a woman named after a state. A psychic I believe. Still, he is physically unharmed and receiving meals on a regular basis of much better quality than before. She knows that he requires distance between each food item." Her face is grim as she turns again, and the road stretches out before them like every road always has in Dean's life.

They ride together quietly, and Dean turns the volume back up to show he's done. If it pleases or upsets her she never says, and he can't tell.

* * *

When they finally reach the place they're supposed to stay she parks in the back and leads him around. They don't have luggage, he's not sure when he'll be able to change out of his pajamas or what's waiting for them inside. The building is old and grand from the outside. The heavy oak door has an ornate knob, and she pauses once on the step and looks up at the sun burning brightly above them. Her face is sad, thoughtful, and Dean doesn't bother holding in the question.

"What's wrong Utre?"

She continues to stare up at the sun, and then her mouth firms into a line and she touches the doorknob. He watches the door swing open without a sound, and cold air from inside the building whooshes out to greet them. It smells vaguely stale, and Dean has to consider that this place has been empty for a long time.

"I am committing this sight to memory. I may never see it again." The words are heavy, slow, and she steps through the doorway the way movie characters walk to their own executions. Dean glances once up into the sky and then follows her in. The bar is broad, spacious, and filled with places that need repair. There are no windows, and the wood floor is old and badly scarred. The bar-top is in a similar condition and Dean gets a splinter running his fingers over it. He tries to squeeze it out while he finally responds to Utre.

"Why do you think that? You'll see it when you go outside to get stuff."

She takes his hand and gently works at the splinter. Eventually it comes out enough she can use her nails to pluck it totally from his skin. "That will be your job I am afraid. I am not allowed to leave this place. It is a provision of my punishment. Come, let us go and see what there is to see here."

Punishment. He knew that her being sent away from the grand house they were in was something bad, but he never considered that she would be a prisoner where they were headed. It lends a new angle to her, makes her less Dean's keeper and more his equal. He's almost ashamed at how glad that makes him. Still, if she wants to ignore it he won't force her to get emotional about it. He's ok with letting things slide in the interest of avoiding conversation. Perfectly skilled in pretending everything is alright.

"Ok. Let's do that."

There's a long hallway behind the bar that smells mustier than the main room did. Three doors split off of it, one has steps leading down into darkness, and the other two are storage, refrigerated and normal. She finds a light for the stairs, and they're confronted with a giant brewing apparatus that has gone tarnished and dull over the years of neglect. Dean's seen enough of them on beer commercials to be able to tell her what it's for, and he gets a little thrill out of being the knowledgeable one for once.

There's a flight of stairs at the back of the hallway that lead up, and above the bar is an apartment. The living area has a ratty couch, no television, and still no windows. Dean frowns at that, realizes it's probably on purpose. Four doors lead off the living area, and she immediately goes to the one that looks different from the others. The wood is so dark it's almost black, and the doorknob is done in the shape of a wolf's head. She stares at it for a long minute before turning back to Dean.

"This door, sweetling, must never be opened. Can you promise me that? It is an extension of our purpose here, and opening it would cause great harm." Her voice is somber for once, serious, and Dean nods. He can resist temptation. He's not one of those stupid kids from fairy tales that always has to go where he's told not to. He thinks of Blackbeard for a moment, remembers how badly it scared Sammy the first time he heard it, and almost grins.

The other three doors are the openings to two bedrooms and a bathroom. Dean stares distrustfully into the bathroom for a while, and then turns back to her. "Does this place even have running water?"

She shrugs, tests one of the beds, and then sits on it and looks around. "We have a fund for bringing it back to life. Some of the work though we must do ourselves. Are you opposed to hard work?"

Dean shakes his head and looks around. "Not even a little. But we're gonna need supplies."

Every evening as the sun begins to set he sits across from her at the table and asks about dad and Sam. Every night she gives him a report that varies from very good to somewhat bad. Sam takes a long time to adjust to Dean being gone, cries a lot, but after three months it seems he's settled into his life with Missouri. Dad is working hard to both find the demon that killed his mother and to find Dean. Utre says that he is taking fewer life-threatening hunts in the interest of focusing more fully on those two things. Dean's glad.

* * *

It takes four months to fully restore the inside. Dean spends a lot of time on the internet looking up techniques and tips, decorating ideas, anything and everything necessary to run a bar. Utre stands over his shoulder occasionally and shakes her head as he moves from webpage to webpage. He checks books out of the library when he thinks the websites don't go into enough detail, and it doesn't take long for Dean to meet everyone in town.

He tells them all the same story, that he is Utre's son, that they moved there from Kansas, that she's not well and so she can't go out much. When several ladies in the town bring pie to welcome them and check her out in person Dean works very hard not to laugh. He and Utre devour each pie in a matter of days. They have to call in for some things. No one local has a sander the size Dean requires to work on the floors, and the local hardware shop only has so many types of varnish and paint. Utre lets him make the majority of the aesthetic decisions, and in between scrubbing, painting, varnishing, and sanding she gives him lessons. He learns more with her than he ever did in the many schools he's attended over the years.

Dean teaches her slang, corrects her every time she messes up old sayings, and makes sure that she gets to bed every night when the sun goes down. It always surprises him how quickly she flags when the light leaves, as if there's a timer in her body set for it. Despite how small she is Dean watches her do things even his dad couldn't do, but when the sunset arrives she's weak as a kitten.

At the end of four months they order the supplies to brew their own beer, she follows his instructions to order the rest of the bar stock, and the squabble about whether or not to serve food. She's for the idea, but Dean isn't too pleased at the prospect of being her short-order cook. She has to hire someone to run the bar at night because he still looks too young to be in charge of such a thing. The day before they open she sits him down and runs her fingers over the tabletop as she considers what she wants to tell him.

"The daytime will be special. For special guests. The nighttime will be for people. When you are old enough we will put you in charge of some of the nights. Until then you must stay close to me, or else the people in this town will complain. We cannot afford attention from bureaucracy. You understand right?"

Dean nods. He's familiar with avoiding the sort of attention that comes from government agencies. They've spent years avoiding child protective services in so many states it's hard to count them all. "So we're sticking with the story that I'm your son?"

Her eyebrows go up, big eyes widening impossibly further, and Dean realizes he's never told her what lie he used on the townspeople. "My son? You are wishing to be my son?"

He feels a blush rise, fights it off, and fails miserably. "Well-I mean it's just a story Utre. It's no big deal."

He sees the way her smile brightens, how her eyes go liquid and soft. "Of course. No big deal. Yes that is true." But the hand she places over his is tender, and suggests that she isn't taking it as just a lie. Dean's kind of ok with that.

* * *

The daytime patrons are almost universally hostile towards him at first. There are a few exceptions, but most connect him to the destiny they are trying to avert or to her punishment. He's only guilty on the one thing, but he lets them work out their aggressions as long as they never cross any lines. When he turns fifteen one of them says something denigrating about Sammy, and Dean grabs the back of his head and slams it into the bar top. The whole place went silent, Utre appeared silently behind him, and the blond Irishman stared at Dean for a long time. The silence had stretched out, the longest seconds of Dean's relatively short life, and then the man had begun to laugh, and the rest of the bar followed suit. He held out one hand and Dean shook it and tried to mask his confusion.

"Ho boy, a good one on me. Good one indeed. I'll be watching me mouth from now on." He ordered another beer and wandered off with a wink and a smile. Dean waited until he was fully gone before turning to Utre.

"What the fuck was that?"

Her grin was overwhelming as always, and she rubbed at his short bristly hair before turning back to pour a glass of whiskey. She held it out to him and nodded in encouragement when he took a drink. "That is your becoming of a man I believe. They will watch their mouths now. It is a certainty."

She wandered off, and left Dean to figure out what the full implications of such a thing were.

She lets him take the bar over at night when he turns seventeen. Dean has spent the last six years dividing his time between helping her, learning, and using the cadillac to go outside of city limits late at night and train the way his father taught him too. Some days she closes the bar and they move the tables out of the way to spar, but Dean's always torn between the need to win and the need not to hurt her. It takes a while to figure out that he can't. Not in the daytime anyway.

He's finally stopped growing, and has built the muscles necessary to intimidate the majority of the patrons that come in. It's strange that time passes, but Utre never changes. She was delicate before, she's like a doll now, and he often looks down at her and wonders if this is how it will always be. Sometime he rests his arm on her head and tells her how perfect her height is for just such a thing. She splutters sounds at him and bats lightly at his arm, but her smile never lessens.

Dean likes manning the bar at night. Gets along with a lot of the locals, enjoys the banter and the gossip. He's a big favorite of most of the ladies there, and it doesn't go unnoticed by their husbands or boyfriends. He gets along with the men just fine though, has no issues with most of them, and those that start trouble find themselves booted out the door. As time goes by he finds that the bar work is easier than he ever thought it would be. Sometimes he hustles pool the way his dad did, some nights when he's only helping the part-timer he plays cards with the locals, and usually he cleans up.

The stories about Sam keep pouring in. Utre tells him how Sam is achieving more in school than anyone could have predicted. How he's skipped a grade and entered high school a year early. She relates a tale of Sam handing some bullies their asses, and Dean can't contain the "'Atta boy Sammy" that slips out of his mouth. Utre's smile is fond and sweet. Dean eats the stories up, spends the night running them over and over in his head as he tries to imagine what his little brother looks like now that he's growing up. He asks Utre if she can get a photo but she's fairly certain she can't.

In the meantime Dean keeps busy, and when he suggests to Utre that he may want to do a hunt that's come up nearby she looks at his research thoughtfully for a long time. "You will be careful sweetling? No dangerous heroics?"

Dean nods like an overeager kid, enthusiastic at the idea of keeping up with the work his father started when he was only four. She taps the research he's printed out again and then sits back and holds up both hands. "Who I am to say this is an idiot's errand? By all means, go to your hunting."

It's her way of telling him she approves, and he stands and kisses the top of her bushy hair gently. "Fool's errand Utre. It's a fool's errand."

"That is what I was saying yes."

His first hunt alone goes spectacularly bad, and he returns with a wide variety of injuries, but a victory against the ghost that had been killing local bankers. Utre studies each of the injuries carefully, hands smoothing over them and bandaging them without a word. When she's finished Dean watches the way she looks at him before trying to keep the defiance to a minimum. "I'm going to do it again. It's good work."

She nods once and stands, lips pursing tightly as she looks off into the distance. "Yes of course you will. I knew that. It is my bedtime Dean. Good night."

He makes it up to her a few weeks later, has workmen come in at night while she is dead to the world and install his present. When she gets up the next morning and sees it her eyes go hazy for a long second, and then she turns and pulls him into a tight embrace. He always forgets how strong she is until these moments. "You wonderful boy. You wonderful, thoughtful, pig-headed boy. How I love you."

He shakes his head once, hugs her back, and then steps away. "We talked about this. No chick flick moments."

She wipes at her eyes and takes in his smile. "Yes. Yes of course. Go to bed now sweetling. It is my turn to man the bar."

* * *

They fight sometimes, loudly and with great abandon. When the report of Sam comes back and Dean finds out that his father took Sam on a hunt that ended with Sam in the hospital Dean shouts at her to let him visit Sammy. To at least let him call the kid.

"He's my goddamn _brother_. He's gonna wonder why I'm not checking in on him. You told me he'd be safe!"

She shakes her head angrily and pushes her way up from the table, the setting sun taking its toll on her. "I told you he would be safer. I did not promise he would go through life unharmed. If you are allowed to throw yourself into the fire why is Sam not allowed the same freedom?"

"Because he's a fucking kid Utre! Because he's not-damn it he's not like me. He's not made to hunt evil sons of bitches alright? He's made to be smart and successful. Why can't dad see that? Why won't you let me at least fucking call him?" He has to clench his fists to avoid attacking, to avoid going too far because his anger is so intense he can barely see straight.

"He is older than you were when you started this path. If he wishes to not hunt things he will not hunt things. As for calling him, this is not the time in which you should be doing this thing. I will not argue this with you further Dean. I am going to bed."

"Fine. Go to bed. Maybe I'll just take the goddamn car and go myself. How'll you like that?" He watches her eyes narrow, and then she looks away and uses the wall to hold herself up. The sun has been set for half an hour now, and it's like all the life has drained out of her.

"You will do what you do. I cannot stop you. Good night Dean."

Dean doesn't go, but he does get into two fights with local men. The first is simply verbal, but the second is incredibly physical. He breaks the man's nose for pushing a girl, and when the battle is done he comes away with busted knuckles, a black eye, and bruised ribs. When she sees the damage in the morning she surveys it all with a wary eye and lets it go. They don't talk about it again.

* * *

The day of Dean's twenty-first birthday the special daytime customers make a huge deal out of it. One of them, a woman with curves for days that Dean is told to call June, brings in the biggest cake he's ever seen. Utre gives him a car of his own, as the Cadillac is old and he complains often about it. She can't see his reaction when he lays eyes on it for the first time, but she's there when he comes back in and sweeps her up. She's light, and he swings her in circles for several revolutions and then pulls her in so tight he hears creaking. She's laughing and pushing at him, and he sees many of the regulars laughing and smiling right along. He knows them all from when he was young and helped her during the day, and he's started to think of some of them as family. It feels good.

Vecher makes sure to ruin that feeling. She comes at night while Dean is drinking with two of the local men, cards spread out in front of them and a fair amount of money on the table.

Larry looks her up and down before turning back to Dean and wiggling an eyebrow. "Why do all the ladies love you Dean? It's not fair."

Dean can't even make himself laugh, manages a sickly smile and waves Larry off, forfeiting the hand, "That's my aunt."

Larry looks her up and down for a moment before letting out a low whistle. "Just as pretty as her sister." He gathers up the remains of the card game and disappears into the crowd. Vecher takes Larry's seat and stares hard at Dean until he can't take the silence anymore.

"Come to wish me a happy birthday?" He looks around, but there's none of the daytime crowd visible. Just Vecher, himself, and a bar full of humans. Utre is too far gone in sleep to possibly wake up for this.

"If I had my vay you vould not be celebrating this day. But my opinion is of no consequence is it Dean Vinchester?"

Dean keeps his face relaxed even as his hands tighten. "I have never understood why you have to be such a bitch all the time. It ain't a family thing if Utre is any indication."

He watches her nostrils flare, dark eyes going momentarily black hole heavy and then she leans over the table and practically hisses. "You have no idea vhat you are saying do you? You have no idea what leedle Dean Vinchester is. Of course not. She babies you and you play with her emotions. Vhat do you think calling her mother does? You say it so casually, but it is a heavy thing. You vill be the death of her. The death, and here you sit making funny as if it is nothing."

That gives him a moment of pause, and he considers her even as he weighs her words. "What are you talking about you crazy bitch?I would never hurt Utre."

She sits back, face victorious and ugly in its smile. "How good of her to hide it from you. How sweet. But if it vas the voman who gave it all away, who has done everything for you against your precious leedle brother which vould you pick? Ask her vhat taking you in really meant. Vhy she is locked here out of the sun. Ask my sister vhy she took you in, knowing you are destined to kill her."

With that Vecher stands, flips her long dark hair over her shoulder like the female bully in a teen movie, and strides out of the bar without another word. Dean waves Larry off, heads to the bar, and orders more whiskey.

When he stumbles into the apartment upstairs he's so drunk he can barely find his feet. The sun is rising and he finds his way to her bed without having to try too hard. She wakes instantly, eyes bright as she rubs the sleep from them.

"Sweetling? What is the matter?" Her voice is curious, soft, and it makes him remember Vecher's accusations even more clearly. He manages to kneel beside the bed and look her in the eye.

"Vecher says I'm gonna kill yah. Says it's destiny. 'S that true? Am I your death Utre?" It hurt to say it. Hurts to ask, but goddamn it he has to know. Because that one statement haunts him. if it was Utre or Sammy, his sort of mom or his little brother, then he'd pick Sam. Pick Sam each and every time and damn the consequences.

Her eyes go big and soft, and she curses quietly in Russian. "My sister has a big mouth and little concern for the wounds her words cause." It's not a denial though. Not even a little bit and Dean knows why. Utre won't lie to him, has never lied to him. Apparently she won't start now.

Unbidden he pushes her shoulder hard and she falls back into the pillows. He's over her, straddling her and gripping her tight, shaking her to punctuate each word. "Why? Why me? Why?"

It isn't until she touches his face that he realizes he's crying. That ten years of fear and pain and bottled up emotion have finally broken loose. "Shhh, shush sweetling. It is alright. You are alright. You are just very drunk, and this is making you emotional. Lie down sweetling, lie down and sleep."

"I don't want to kill you. I don't want it." He sounds so petulant, so childish, but Igoddamn it/I why does this have to happen? Why does it always have to be him?

"Destiny," she sounds like she's repeating a half-remembered truth, "is like a spoiled child. She pushes and pushes to have her way. We do not have to let her have it. Do you understand Dean? I do not believe that we are doomed to follow her orders. So stop crying sweetling. I trust you. When the time comes you will make the right choice."

He lets her lead him down, buries his face in her shoulder and lets it all out. The guilt that he is apparently her death sentence, that already he's had her banished and imprisoned. The guilt for leaving Sammy, the worry that Sam will be hurt when Dean isn't there to protect him, and the fear of what his love for Sam might make him do. What he is destined to do for it. He lets her stroke his hair, takes a deep watery breath, and sounds more like a child than he has in all of remembered history. "Utre, I'm sorry. You really are like my mom but-it's _Sammy_ Utre. It's Sammy."

He shakes his head once, smells the sunshine and summer scent of her even in the cold bedroom and feels how heavy it all is. Leaving Sammy ends one terrible destiny and starts another. What will stop the second one?

She makes those soothing noises for a bit longer, and just before he falls asleep he hears her speak again, voice sorrowful and sweet. "Oh sweetling, I know. I know. I wouldn't want you to feel differently."

* * *

It all changes when the supplicant arrives. Everything gets thrown out of whack and Dean's left trying to figure out what happened to his semi-orderly life.


	2. Good Afternoon

**A/N:  
**So, chapter two. It's anachronistic, but this entire chapter was born to the sound of The Dawes "Little Bit of Everything". Try it out if you're feeling like good music.

* * *

When the phone goes silent Sam drops it, curls around his own knees, and begins to cry. He doesn't want to cry, didn't want to cry when Dean was listening for sure, but he can't help it. Dean's never called him a baby for crying but it's how Sam feels right now. He's failed his brother, and Dean can say whatever he wants but Sam should have done more. Should have tried harder to hurt the big man holding Dean. He saw the gun on the floor, had heard the loud report from Dean's first shot, but he couldn't make himself pick it up. He still remembers the weight of the gun dad gave him when he thought there was a monster in his closet, and this gun was even bigger so the chances of him holding it up were pretty slim. Still, the man was hurting _Dean_.

The blow to the head had been bad, and Sam had lost consciousness before Dean was taken. Had just enough time to see his brother's eyes rolling up into his skull, to feel the blood dripping from his own head, and then everything went dark. He remembers the dream now as he sits alone in the cold motel room his father has moved him to. Dad said Bobby was coming to get him, and he believes it, but he wonders if that means dad isn't coming back. Sam wouldn't blame him, because Dean was the good son and now he's been taken and Sam let it happen. If dad never talks to him again it won't be punishment enough.

He thinks of the lady in the dream, of how her hands soothed his aching head and how her eyes glowed like the sun. How she pulled him into her arms and rocked him gently like Dean would when he had a nightmare. Her voice had been warm and gentle as she crooned to him in a light accent. "Poor Samuel. Poor little boy. It is alright. It is alright now."

He had let her hold him, let her soothe him even as he thought there was something he should be doing. Someone he was supposed to be helping. When he finally figured it out he started to struggle, but she held him tighter and spoke into his hair. "One day when you are old enough you will look for a woman, a woman who sees far and clear. She will tell you how to find your brother, and you must obey her every word. Until then Samuel you love him, love him as much as you can because he will need it."

Sam woke up before he could figure out what she meant, woke to his father's big rough hands and leather and gun oil scent. Dad shook him for a while and then began asking questions, and Sam managed to answer all of them without crying. It was Dean's call that broke open those floodgates and now Sam can't stop.

When Uncle Bobby arrives Sam is pulled into his arms and taken out of the motel room. "Your daddy wanted me to take you to Missouri. She's a nice lady, and she's gonna take care of you for a while. Ok kiddo?"

Sam fights to breathe through the tears, and when he gets himself composed he's already been loaded into Bobby's creaky old car and they're on the road. "Dean called. He called me."

Uncle Bobby glanced his way once and then turned back to the road. "Did he?" He sounds sympathetic and pitying, and it's not what Sam expected as a reaction. He grabs at Bobby's arm and watches the man give him a soft look and pat his hand. "Sammy I know this hard on you."

Sam purses his lips angrily. Bobby thinks he imagined the call or that he's making it up. "It's Sam Uncle Bobby, and _Dean called me_. He told me that he couldn't say where he was, and that he had to go, and he was doing it to keep us safe."

There's a long silence where Uncle Bobby simply considers the road ahead of him as the miles slide behind them. Finally he clears his throat and rubs at his forehead before adjusting his cap. "Sam, I'm sorry ok kid? It's terrible, but your daddy and I are gonna find Dean. Until then you just gotta hold it together ok boy? Just keep it all together."

Sam gives up, crosses his arms and slumps in his seat angrily. If Uncle Bobby won't believe him dad will.

* * *

But dad doesn't either. They have a phone conversation on his second day at Missouri's, and dad does the same thing Bobby did. He doesn't want to know the details of the phone call, just the parts about the actual kidnapping. Sam keeps trying to cut in, but dad never lets him finish. By the time the conversation is done Sam just wants to scream at his father, wants to throw things and break them, but these aren't his things and he can't do that. The first time Missouri separates his food for him he cries so hard the world grays out around him and he almost falls out of his chair. It's what Dean has always done without being asked or making a fuss about it. He's grateful and angry at the same time.

She sits across the table from him after he's gotten a hold of himself and watches him eat quietly for a while. When he's halfway done she reaches out and takes his hand. "You love your brother a great deal do you not?"

Sam nods, swallowing against more tears, and stares at his plate. "I do. More than anything."

Missouri smiles and strokes his hand gently. Her eyes glow golden in her face. "Then believe in him. Be strong for him. He will not let you down so do not let him down. Grow big and strong, and then find the woman who will set you on the right path."

Her voice is changing slowly, becoming softer and dragging out the vowels slightly as it goes along, but Sam accepts this as logical even as he grips her hand back. "Will he be ok? Will he be safe?"

"He will be as safe as buildings."

Sam can't help the giggle, and he lets her smooth and porcelain colored hand go as he covers his mouth. He can't remember when Missouri became white, when she grew bushy golden hair, or when the round soft sides of her face became delicate thin angles. "It's _houses_. Safe as houses. Everybody knows that."

She nods seriously, but there's a wicked glint in her eyes that suggests she thinks it's funny too. "Yes. This is what I am saying. Now wake up Sam. You are scaring Missouri."

Sam's eyes open to find Missouri's worried face hovering over his. "Sam? Wake up baby. Wake up I got you."

It takes him a while to get full control again, but when he does Missouri smoothes his hair and looks at him seriously. "Sam. Who was talking to you baby? Who'd you see?"

He chews on that for a moment, and then pushes his plate away and grips the table tightly. "Uncle Bobby and dad think I'm imagining things."

She shakes her head and looks almost angry. "For all those men have seen you'd think they'd be a little more open-minded. I believe you Sam, so tell Missouri everything ok baby?"

So he does. He starts with the phone call and then tells her about the lady he sees in his dreams, the one who just now wore Missouri's face and told him to be strong. Most importantly he tells her how the lady wants him to find another lady, but she won't tell him who the second one is. Missouri nods thoughtfully through the whole story, and then she pushes the plate back to him and watches him closely. "Ok Sam. I see now. You eat up ok? You're gonna need the energy."

* * *

The years fly by and the dreams change. Instead of the golden haired lady Sam sees Dean. Sees him growing up, watches him cracking wise with strangers or talking about cars. All of it is in first person, as if Sam is really there, and he longs for the dreams. Longs for the nighttime when they come and he can hold the image of Dean close. His brother is growing bigger and stronger, and Sam tries so hard to memorize every little detail. He shares them with Missouri, but not his dad or Bobby. It's not hard, because he sees his dad so infrequently that it's a wonder the man remembers he exists.

The search for Dean is worse than fruitless. Every psychic they consult, every supernatural creature they question, every lead takes them to the same dead end. He overhears Bobby complaining about it one night. "They either say nothing, or they insist he's hidden in some bright light. It's driving John nuts Missy. I don't know how to tell him that maybe-ah shit I don't even wanna say it. But what if it's too late?"

The thought freezes Sam's blood, and he cries himself to sleep that night. He dreams of Dean in a bar, slamming a big blonde man's head into the countertop for saying something bad about Sam. Dean is handsome and fierce, and the other people in the bar look on in admiration and amusement. When he wakes up he knows what he has to do.

He begins the research quietly. Uses school resources and study hall time. It doesn't take long to narrow down the list. Whatever took Dean is powerful, it's Slavic, and it's connected to light. The lore is disconnected, strange, and ultimately minimal because it was more oral tradition than written mythology. Sam finds a number of possibilities, but considering his dreams he's pretty sure he knows which one is right.

But it takes time, and while he's good at being patient there's really only so much he's willing to wait for. He plays along though, bites back his resentment when his father seems to give up on the search entirely. He works hard to keep his face neutral when Dean's name is completely written out of their lexicon, and he never once screams at John. Doesn't, but _wants_ to, wants to so badly sometimes his mouth is full of blood. Missouri's face is sympathetic and caring, but even she has begun to let go of the possibility that Dean will be back with them one day.

They praise him for his achievements, go on and on about how smart he is, but it's all necessity. Sam doesn't care about quadratic equations or diagramming sentences, but he absorbs everything they put in front of him because the faster he graduates the faster he gets to his goal. He starts to hunt with dad because he has to. Has to make it seem like he cares about the hunt for the demon that went after mom. Has to pretend to be a part of the system, because that's how he'll get his hands on what matters most to him.

When his arm is broken and he's in the hospital for blood loss he dreams of Dean shouting, angry, desperate to see him. It makes him feel good, even though the tone of the dream is somewhat sad. His dreams keep up with the same theme for the most part though. Dean getting along as the years pass, and if the golden woman is still there with him all the time Sam doesn't see her. He thinks he feels her, that same warmth and kindness, but he's not too worried about where she is. He'll find her when the time is right. He'll find whatever he needs.

His plan is cobbled together from lore, from understanding, but mostly from the _other_ dreams. The ones that keep coming true, that leave him on the floor in so much pain it's hard to see straight. The migraines and the nausea are bad, but Sam is willing to swallow them all down if it leads to Dean. Willing to take any punishment that he's due to make it up to his brother. Age hasn't dimmed that hurt, hasn't lessened how bad he feels about letting Dean be taken like that. Sure, logically he knows that he was only seven and that there wasn't much he could do. Logic goes out the window when it comes to his brother though. Logic isn't even in the building anymore most of the time.

Sam is aware that the dreams are probably something he needs to tell his dad about. He discusses them lightly with Missouri, and she's not too perplexed. Suggests that Sam is simply touched the way she is. Special. Sam knows better. Knows that Missouri's powers come from some line of succession, some family trait that is inherent in most of the Mosely women. No one in Sam's family is reported as being psychic. At least not that he can find and he's dug around pretty heavily.

Whatever gives him the other dreams, the prophetic ones that temporarily cripple him, isn't blood of that kind. It has something to do with the demon. Sam can feel it, is almost sure of it, but he doesn't have time to figure it out. He's too busy looking for the other woman, the one that will start him on the road to Dean. When he finds her, then the rest of the plan will fall into place.

As if his father subconsciously knows what Sam is planning he gives Sam the greatest birthday gift he ever could. He leaves him the Impala and his journal the day Sam turns twenty-one. He has over four grand saved from jobs he's been taking since he started this whole thing, and now with the journal he finds the last piece. A psychic his father knew in Indiana. One who is supposed to be very good but incredibly prickly. That's ok though, she can be prickly all she wants because nothing is going to stand between Sam and Dean. Not anymore.

Missouri finally catches on to the depth of his plan when she sees what John has left him. He knew it was coming, he just wasn't sure when, and now she's looking sadly at him as she holds out a packed lunch and an envelope. From the heft of it Sam knows what it holds and he shakes his head and tries to give it back to her.

"I've been saving up Missy. I'm good. You've taken care of me all these years, and I appreciate that, but you need this more than I do."

Her eyes narrow and sparkle, suggesting oncoming waterworks that she wants to avoid. "Don't you be stupid boy. I've loved you like my own since the first time you came here. I didn't do that for your father, I did it for you. If I wanna give you money that's my decision and you'll damn well take it. Now hug me and promise me you'll call." Sam notices she doesn't suggest he follow through on the promise, just that he promise it. A side-effect of her gift, she won't ask more from him than he can offer her. He hugs her tightly and feels the way she shakes slightly as she tries to hold the tears in until he's gone.

"Love you Missy. Thanks-thanks for everything."

She nods, roughly knuckles her eyes, and then pushes him away from her. He waves once, starts up the Impala, and rolls away from the only place that he's ever considered home since the day home was taken from him.

* * *

Bitchy would have been a better word to describe Madame Zoraster, aka Jean Bellows. She closes the door on him directly after opening it, and leaves him banging on it for five minutes before she opens it again.

"I am not helping you. You stink of Winchester. My insurance plan doesn't cover Winchester." She glares at him through the cracked doorway, heavy makeup cracking at the corners of her eyes. He holds up both hands to show her he is only armed with ten crisp hundred dollar bills.

"Will this cover finding something that wants to be found?" He tries to keep his voice modulated, pleasant and friendly, but there may be an undercurrent of sarcasm. She's already getting on his nerves and he hasn't made it through the door.

She reaches one willowy arm out and grabs the money at a speed that should be impressive. There's silence from the other side of the door, and then it swings all the way open and she gestures for him to come in. "You get one question and one question only. If I get hurt there's another grand in it. You got me Winchester?"

The interior of her house is darker than he could have ever imagined. A mishmash collection of new-age decorations that are meant to look old and impressive line the walls and display tables. She leads him to a parlor that smells of old incense and sweat, and he swallows down any comments he might have on patchouli stink or dramatic flairs. Pissing her off further would be contrary to his purpose.

He takes the seat she indicates and is only slightly amused when she hauls the big crystal ball off the table so that the space between them is empty. She takes one long look at him and then casts her eyes down at his hands. "What are you looking for?"

"A woman. Her name is Zorya Utrennyaya." He keeps everything neutral, and isn't surprised when her eyes narrow suspiciously. She may know a little bit of the lore. Her heritage and her job choice suggest she should have done some research. Still the look on her face is of someone half-recalling a lesson from childhood, and that's what Sam was betting on.

If she ever fully it remembers it before she begins Sam doubts it. She's too relaxed. Too calm. "I'm surprised. I thought you'd ask about the demon, or at least your brother. I guess WInchester loyalty is as good as I thought it was."

Sam feels a little less guilt about what's going to happen in a moment.

She lays out the paper and then leans back in the chair, a pen firmly lodged in her right hand and a look of calm spreading over her withered features. "Samuel Winchester is looking for Zorya Utrennyaya. Can anyone give us guidance?"

The room drops in temperature, and Sam sees the fine hairs along his arms raise as her hand begins to move, drawing long connected loops all over the paper in front of her. Her face isn't so calm anymore, and he watches as her hand speeds up and her lips purse before going slack.

The voice that comes from her mouth next is deep, male, and almost frightening. It has no inflection and no accent, no human features whatsoever other than its use of the English language.

"You will go to this place, and you will find what you seek, but you will not like what you find. You must go directly before the sun rises and stay until the Zorya acknowledges you. Speak to no one but her. Take no food or drink unless she offers it. If you raise your hand to her you will die. If you raise your voice to her you will die. If you win your prize everyone will die. May God forgive you demon prince."

It isn't the message from his dream, and Sam feels the first threads of unease as Jean falls slack in her chair and her hand leaves the page and drops the pen onto the carpet. He grabs the notebook and leaves, unconcerned about how angry she'll be when she wakes up. After all, it's not like she'll come after him. She knows too much about the Winchesters to try such a thing. None of it matters, not even the changed message, because Dean's _here_. That's all that matters now.

There are three words connected into the loops. "Finksburg, Maryland, Polaris." The last written so hard it's almost ripped through the page. Sam almost laughs at the irony of it. His whole life it seems he's been wandering around in the dark looking for Dean, and all he had to do was follow the North Star.

* * *

The bar is set on a corner in the tiny town. The brick face is old and dark, and Sam doesn't miss that it has no windows. The parking lot is empty except for a gorgeous old Charger, and Sam considers it for a minute before approaching. The heavy oak door is just thick enough that Sam can tell there's sound on the other side, but he's not sure what it is. Considering the state of the parking lot the jukebox may still be on, but whoever is in there will be cleaning up after the night before. He tries the knob with low expectations and finds that it opens easily under his hand. The door swings without a sound, and the space that faces him is broad and bright. The floor shines under the directed spotlights, and someone has set in false opaque windows in the walls inside.

The tables are full of people, and they chatter with each other comfortably. Sam looks around the room, takes in the patrons, and then turns to the bar. He expects to see the golden woman there, but instead he sees Dean. Dean smiling and laughing as he pours shots for nine beautiful women lined up at the bar. All of them are staring at him, and Sam can't blame them. In the warm glow of the recessed lights Dean's hair has strange highlights, his shirt hugs defined lines and thick biceps, and the way the green in his eyes catches each glint-

Sam shakes off that weird train of thought and crosses quietly to the bar. He remembers the warning he received, and when the angular Native-American man at the bar moves over to give Sam room he takes the seat without a word. The man's nose is a bit too long, and his smile reveals strangely sharp teeth. He nods once to Sam and then turns back to where Dean is using more flourishes than are strictly necessary to serve the group of women. They giggle as he moves gracefully, each talking over the other.

"Dean you should be a dancer. Look at how you move and-"

"No,look at his smile. He should be an actor. All that charisma and those-"

"You would make a wonderful musician darling. A singer maybe. A frontman definitely. After all-"

They fall silent when the strident screech carries over the crowd. "Hail boy-king."

Sam turns at the same time as the rest of the bar, and sees the three crones staring at him blearily from across the bar. The one who spoke clutches at the chair in front of her as she wobbles and smiles darkly. Her toothless sister leans forward and picks up the chorus. "Hail bringer of destruction."

The last is so withered and old she looks like she'll fall apart, and the curl of her lips is something that could only be considered a grin in the worst of nightmares. "Hail Azazel's Child. Hail harbinger of loss."

The bar goes completely silent, and Sam feels his pulse rate triple as all eyes turn to him. An old man with one eye stands and slams his hand against the table. "You are not welcome here you tainted thing! Be gone now!"

Several people stand behind him, and there are nods and murmurs of agreement through the room. The murmur rises, gains in volume and passion, and Sam feels a hand on his shoulder that he realizes is the Native-American man. Just as two large blondes begin to step forward Dean's voice carries over the sounds in the room. "Wednesday. _That's enough_. You know as well as anybody that Utre decides who stays and who goes. It'll be her choice not yours."

A few of the patrons look ashamed, but the two blonde men look disappointed. Sam turns his back on them and grips the bar hard, and when he sees his brother's hand move into his sight line he dares to look up.

"Ok stranger. They'll behave for a bit but you might wanna order and leave." Sam notices there's extra light on Dean's face, and when he turns to look at the opaque false windows he sees that light has begun to swell in them, a mimicry of the sunrise that has begun outside. Dean sees where his eyes have gone and chuckles lowly. "My gift to Utre. She loves those damn things. So what'll it be?"

Sam wants to say, _You. I'll take you, because you're supposed to have been there all along._ Wants to call Dean by his name, grab him into a hug, just fucking something other than sitting there like he's mute. The man beside him takes up the conversational slack.

"He won't be needing anything from you Dean-o. He's waiting on Utre. Got yourselves a new supplicant here I believe."

Sam sees the way Dean's eyes darken, the way the friendliness is leached from his face. "Oh. Well she'll be a few minutes."

Then Dean turns away, and it takes all of Sam's strength to keep his mouth shut and his hands on the bar. To not call out to Dean and beg him not to look that way. Not to turn his back on him. The Native-American speaks again, voice so low only Sam can hear it. "You better hope she wakes up soon kiddo. They won't keep to themselves for long."

The minutes tick by slowly. The women at the bar leave shortly after the crones call to him, and Sam doesn't miss the way the other patrons avoid him entirely. Dean stays away too, and that kills Sam a little. All these years he's waited and already he's pissed his brother off.

When the door behind the bar opens, and a young woman with a corona of blonde hair and a bright smile enters the sound level in the bar swells again. She sweeps bright golden eyes over the patrons and then looks directly to Sam. Her smile doesn't dim.

Sam watches closely as Dean moves to her, wraps one arm around her shoulders, and leans down to whisper in her ear. He glances towards Sam and then away, and her head nods as she listens. Finally she pats Dean's shoulder once and whispers something back. She steps in front of Sam and leans into his space. "Follow me please."

Several people call out to her, but she ignores them and leads Sam down a long hall and upstairs into an apartment. He takes a seat at the table in the kitchen area when she gestures, and he watches how she claims the spot across from him. She's just as pretty as he dreamed and she hasn't aged a day. She's also the creature that stole Dean.

"You have finally come. Was it hard to find your way here?" She sounds like she's talking to an old friend, and Sam swallows down his ire.

"A little. I've come for my brother." He swallows once and realizes how dry his mouth is. As if she noticed she leaves the table long enough to pour him a glass of water and slide it to him before re-seating herself.

"There is a process to this. Surely you know that?" Her hands move constantly over the surface of the table, and he watches them so she won't see the anger in his eyes.

"Whatever it is I'll do it. As long as Dean comes home with me." He's amazed at how level he sounds, as if this was a conversation about returning a lost dog or a missing set of car keys. As if they weren't bargaining for his goddamn brother's life.

He thinks of how affectionate Dean was, of the casual way he touched her, and his ire rises. She's made Dean into some kind of toy, some plaything, and god help her if Dean's permanently scarred from the damage she's caused.

"It will be a great price for such a thing. Three years of your life spent in this place and in silence. You will serve myself and Dean as we see fit. You will not speak, you will not tell anyone who you are. The best you can do for communication is to nod or shake your head. No writing of any sort. You will stay here and follow every rule we give you. Can you do these things?" The light accent makes her vowels long and soft, and Sam's almost entranced by them. Almost.

"I can. When do we start?" He finally looks up when he hears her laughter, soft and almost rueful. Her hands are holding her face up now, and she looks so young and innocent it hurts him to see it. Hurts worse that her eyes are so damn bright.

"Soon. You may wish to ask your questions before then, as you will not get a chance for another three years." He watches the way her fingers still tap, as if mapping out the planes of her jaw.

"Why did you take him? Why did you make him leave?"

Her smiles slips off her face, and she looks so serious he almost believes she feels bad about the whole thing.

"I will tell you a story. When the story ends your period of silence will begin. Before I start it though allow me to say this one thing; your brother is my main concern. He has been for a long time. Never mistake that."

He hears the door open behind him, assumes it's Dean, and keeps his eyes on her face. She never looks away from him. "A long time ago there were two little girls. They were sisters, and they were different as night and day. Once they were old enough their father gave them a terrible task. A burden that was to consume their lives entirely, but both sisters believed in their father, and they believed in the work he wanted them to do. They agreed to serve him, to work for the sun as it slept and when it woke. They agreed to be split apart, to only see each other for a few moments each day as they passed off the mantle of responsibility. More importantly they agreed to watch against the coming of the end of the world. To be the last line of defense against that terrible day. In doing this they doomed themselves to a lifetime of worry, of struggle, and to the weight of the entire world. A prophecy was laid down, that one day two little boys like them would come, and those boys would bring the end of the world. One sister decided that the best way to stop this was to kill the little boys. To take choice away entirely. The other sister believed that choice was more powerful than prophecy. One day it will be proven which sister was right and which was wrong. Until that day they will continue to guard the door, and they will always be broken apart."

Dean came into his view, settling one large hand on her delicate shoulder. "Telling fairytales again Utre?"

"No name here was asking from where you came and why you are being with me. I was simply explaining these things. It is bedtime for you sweetling." Her face was soft again, warm, and Dean smiled at it.

"No name huh? Gonna have to fix that. What do I call him?" Dean glanced his way once, eyes guarded before returning to her.

"Whatever you wish. I should be going down. Show him my room and allow him to sleep there for the day alright? It would be for the best he not see the special patrons anytime soon."

Dean nodded, waited until she was gone, and then turned back towards Sam. His green eyes are fierce and hard. "Listen, let me go ahead and talk you outta this. No one has ever lasted longer than a week in her service. There's a reason for that kid." Dean watched his face, and since Sam couldn't speak he made it as assured and defiant as he could. Dean studied it for a moment, and then his expression softened and looked sad.

"You kinda remind me of someone when you look like that. Tell you what, let's call you Jimmy ok? Like the rockstar. Is that acceptable?"

Sam nodded, eyes fighting to not go wet. It was close, so fucking close but it wasn't quite there. Wasn't _Sammy_, a name he'd only ever let Dean call him.

Dean stared at him for a bit and then frowned. "You don't talk a lot man. One of the rules?" When Sam nodded he chuckled darkly. "Well that's a new one. Maybe I shoulda named you Charlie. Anyway, that's the bathroom, that's Utre's room, and that is my room."

Sam stared at the dark wood door until Dean took the hint and turned his head to look at it. His face became odd, dreamy and unsure for a moment, and then it hardened and he shook his head briskly. "We don't touch that door. Consider it the first and most important rule. She didn't mention that in your conditions?"

Sam shook his head and Dean responded by opening her bedroom door and gesturing him in. "Sleep well Jimmy. See you in the evening. That'll be when the real work starts."

* * *

Sam's sleep was fragmented and choppy. He dreamed he was floating on a lake somewhere, a sky full of stars over him and someone floating beside him. He couldn't turn his head to see who was sharing the water with him, but he knew that they didn't belong there. The voice that floated through the darkness was thick and heavy, male and female all at once. "You've done well so far boy, but there's miles to go you know. Miles to go. Whatever happens don't you trust her."

Above them the stars began to fall, crashing into earth and causing grand explosions as they went. Sam jerked in the water and a clawed hand gripped his arm and kept him still. The touch sent cold waves through his skin, and Sam began to shiver as the water plummeted in temperature.

"You have a purpose Samuel. A purpose you must fulfill. This talk of shirking destiny is for losers and lost causes. You're a winner Samuel. The best of the best. Follow her rules until the time comes, and then you can follow your _destiny_."

His arm began to bleed where the clawed hand held him, and Sam fought against the rigidity of the water to try to turn his head. To see what was holding him. He felt the life leaving him, his strength fading, and the cold increased beyond the point of pain and into the realm of agony. He heard a dark chuckle, and then the clawed hand let him go and he was left drifting in the water, bleeding out slowly and surely.

"Winchesters. Always entertaining if nothing else. I'll be seeing you soon boy-king."

Something scorching hot touched his arm, the bleed stopped, and Sam was awake and gasping into the face of the golden-eyed woman. Utre. Dean called her Utre.

"You are having a nightmare. I cannot banish this visitor you have brought with you. Dean has taken to calling you Jimmy?"

Sam nodded, trying to make sense of the long line of half-formed sentences she'd given him and not having much success. Visitor he brought? He didn't bring anybody. He noticed that her skin was paler than it had been before, her eyes a dim and burnished copper instead of bright gold. It was as if the color was draining from her underneath his gaze, and whatever brightness he'd seen upon waking was completely gone. She smiled weakly as dark circles formed under her eyes.

"Is close enough for government papers yes? Hurtful but close. I am sorry for this."

_Don't you trust her_. He shivered and a deep voice from the doorway broke his reverie. "Work Utre. Why can't you ever get that one right?"

She looked over her shoulder and nodded seriously. "Yes. I am always struggling with that one. Sorry Dean."

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to the English language. More importantly, Jimmy get your ass up. Utre needs to go to sleep now. It's an hour past sunset." Dean sounded amused and annoyed all at once, and when Sam got a good look at his face he figured the amused portion was completely fake. He slid out of the bed and watched her roll into it, not even bothering with the covers as one arm covered her eyes and she fell immediately asleep. Dean moved past him stiffly, gathering up blankets and sliding them over her before kissing her forehead.

"Come on Jimmy. The part-timer is working tonight, so I can show you the ropes."

* * *

Sam stared at the well-polished brewing machinery in the basement as Dean pointed out sacks of ingredients. He slapped Sam once on the shoulder, bordering between playful and reproachful, and then went back to his lecture.

"So it's broken into seven steps ok? Mashing, lautering, boiling, fermenting, conditioning, filtering, and filling. The beer we make here has two fermentations to it, so it's gonna be important that you make sure it goes through both cycles. You gotta add the yeast at just the right time, because if you fuck it up the whole batch goes south, you got me?"

Sam nods and keeps his eyes on his work. Dean sounds so much like dad explaining how to kill something supernatural in that moment that it's hard for Sam to look at him. Hard to know Dean has no idea who he is or what connections he's making. Right now he's Jimmy, the supplicant, and that's all he can be for three more years.

Sam hates Jimmy.

Despite the long list of steps it isn't hard for Sam to pick up the process of brewing. He's always been a quick study, and the grin he returns to Dean when he gets praise is probably pathetic to look at. He can't help himself though. It's been so long since he heard Dean praise him that he's pretty sure he'd do anything to put that proud smile on his big brother's face.

Serving at the bar is a bit different though. The townspeople are told that Sam is mute, and he's the son of some old friend of Utre's. They buy it easily enough, but several of the patrons want to test the limits of Sam's muteness. It's weird how they act like they can shock a voice out of him, and disconcerting because it's possible they could. One slip though and he loses Dean forever. Sam knows that well enough to not make a mistake. He follows every rule that Utre gave him as he moves from table to table serving beer and whiskey, avoiding being dragged into conversations he can't have.

Several of the women eye him up, and one or two decide that after a few drinks it will be fun to pinch Sam's ass every time he crosses in front of them. It's annoying, but not something he can't handle. It's when one of the men crosses that line that Sam freezes in place and glares. The guy does it two more times, and then when he goes to do it a fourth Sam turns to hit him. He doesn't get the chance though because Dean is suddenly there. It's how puffed up and angry Dean looks that really sends home to Sam that this is his older brother all grown up.

Dean has a death grip on the guy's wrist, and he twists slightly while the man howls. "Fun's over Tom. Pay your tab, tip the man extra, and get the fuck out." Dean's tone brooks no argument, green eyes dark like forest leaves and plush lips drawn into a white and angry line.

"Jesus Dean," Tom whines, "it was just a joke man. Calm down."

Dean looks once to Sam and then back to Tom, twists the wrist to just before breaking point. "I don't find it funny and neither does Jimmy. Use this hand to get your wallet out and be glad you still can."

Once Tom has paid and stalked out Dean turns back to Sam and grabs his arm, hauling him behind the bar. "Why'd you let him take it that far? You like strangers grabbing you?" If anything there's more rage than there was before, and Sam's not sure how to mitigate Dean's anger. He shakes his head once and watches Dean look him over and then release his arm. "Well then next time do something about it. I can't keep jumping the bar to save you every time you get into trouble."

Sam has the feeling though that if it came to it Dean would do just that. It's a good feeling.

* * *

Their schedule takes a little while to get used to. The daytime and nighttime customers are strictly segregated, and every morning at 3:30 Dean pushes out the last of the stragglers and starts to clean up before the doors reopen at 4. Utre comes down shortly after dawn and relieves him, and the two meet up again in the late part of the day or just before she falls into the bed and slips into what Sam can only call a coma. He's tried waking her once just to see, and nothing seemed to work. His schedule is split between the two, and he finds he likes working with Dean a whole lot more than he likes working with Utre. When Dean is around the daytime customers are a little less friendly, but the townspeople are warm and inviting. They all watch their hands after the incident with Tom.

With Utre the daytime customers, the little gods Sam begins to think of them, show him grudging respect. Most won't look directly at him, but there are no more jibes or insults. Still despite the lack of abuse Sam's uncomfortable around her. He isn't sure what the relationship between her and Dean is. If he could figure out the depths to which she's twisted Dean maybe he could start untwisting him, working his brother back into the man he was before the goddess got her hands on him. It doesn't help that she's always nice, always polite, and usually helpful. She never asks much of him, and Sam begins to feel like a third wheel. When she and Dean eat together he sits silently across from them with no ability to join the conversation other than to nod or shake his head when he's asked direct questions.

The worst part of the whole thing is that he wants to like her. The more he sees the two of them interact the more he feels the urge to like her, because she's good to his brother. Good in every way but the one where's she apparently seduced him. At least that's what Sam thinks until the incident with the old lady.

It's just a little after sunset and the mortal customers have already sat down. Sam's delivering clam chowder when a little old woman grabs at his elbow and arrests his forward momentum. For one horrible second he thinks she'll stand, call him boy-king, but she doesn't. She peers through coke-bottle glasses and speaks in a voice reminiscent of wind in autumn leaves. "Are you another of Utre's boys?"

Her accent is thick, Slavic but not quite Russian, and he shakes his head helplessly in her direction. She squints up and then leans in. "You're the mute right? Her son's friend. He is very good boy."

The old lady across from her nods her head seriously. "Yes. But a little off. Always home with his mother and never dating any of the pretty young things in town. Maybe he is one of the homosexuals."

Sam's literally milliseconds away from opening his mouth when a hand clamps his arm so hard he feels the bruises forming. A voice, sharp and hard and just as accented as the little old ladies has his head turning its way immediately.

"You vill come vith me. Now." Sam can't help but notice how the two old ladies go slack-faced when the woman speaks, how almost all of the patrons have a strange dreamy look on their faces, and then he's being pulled towards the door, one hand still trying to balance the bowl of chowder. The woman dragging him is severe and beautiful, dark, and he knows who she is instantly. His suspicion is confirmed when Dean looks up, sees them, and heads their way with a scowl darkening his face.

Sam manages to lower the bowl to a table before he's pulled out of the door, and he hears someone call Dean's name as the heavy portal swings shut. He's left alone with the woman in the dark cold of the night outside.

She spins on one heel, finger up and accusing before her mouth catches up to it. "Vhat are you doing here? You are not supposed to be here."

Sam shakes his head, tries to step away from her, but he's grabbed again and he can't break the hold. The door slams open behind him and warm hands grip his shoulders and pull him back. He crashes into the solid mass of Dean, shorter than him but suddenly much bigger. It's so familiar it hurts.

"Vecher. You should leave before I wake Utre." Dean's tone is as cold as the woman's skin was, but his grip on Sam is blazing hot. Too hot, and Sam's distracted by it just long enough to miss what the woman is doing until it's done. She spits on him, her fingers forking the evil eye like an old gypsy in a movie.

"I see you have chosen your allegiance Dean Vinchester. Just as I always predicted. Taint over purity every time vith you. My sister deserves-"

The voice that cuts her off is familiar, friendly with an undertone of strange. "Hey now, I missed the daytime rush. Is it too late to get some of that chowder Dean-o? My stomach is rumbling something fierce." The angular Native-American god that Sam has seen so often steps out of the darkness as if the shadows released him. His smile is hard, wide, and shows all of his pointed teeth. Sam feels Dean's arm tighten around his shoulders. Somehow he realizes he's been working here five months and never learned this god's name.

"Yeah man. We can still serve you. Come inside. It's where we were headed."

Dean lets him go, steps away, and Sam hears the door open and then close. There's silence in the parking lot for a second, heavy and deep, and then the little god turns to look at the goddess. "Your sister would be furious if you gave the game away. You played your hand Vechernyaya and you lost. Time to bow out gracefully." He takes Sam's elbow and leads him away as if Sam is feeble or slow. He's not fond of it. Behind him the woman calls out one more time before the door closes.

"Damn all three of you. For vhat you are doing damn you all!" Her sentence is punctuated by the slam of oak, and then Sam is being practically carried to the bar. He doesn't realize he's shaking until he sits down and the Native-American god is rubbing his shoulder.

"She's a tough old bitch I'll grant you that. Never knows when to quit. Damn Utre is gonna be furious."

Sam's handed a wetnap, looks up to see Dean's angry scowl directly ahead of him. "She's got a death wish if she spits on Jimmy again. What the hell was she thinking coming here?" He watches the way Dean's hands move rapidly over the wood of the bar, fingers tapping much like Utre's do. It's a little sharp reminder that his brother is a part of this odd community. This family of mythological figures.

"What's her beef with you-oh shit even if you knew you couldn't tell me." There's a glint to the man's eyes, jocular and easy, and Sam isn't sure if he likes it. "Hey Dean-o, can you get me my favorite man? There's a good boy."

Dean gave him a hard look. "I thought you came for chowder."

"Chowder, liquor, can't a man have both?" He gives Dean incredibly realistic puppy-dog eyes, and Dean rolls his own in response.

"Sure a man can. You're not a man though are you?" Dean goes off anyway, digging through the specialty cabinet.

"That'll take him a minute or two, and then he'll get distracted. Listen, No Name, you need to get your shit straight. That happened just then because you think too loud. Always thinking 'Sammy', and 'my brother'. You want to get through this thing and win your prize? You gotta start thinking 'Jimmy' and 'goal'. Otherwise you're gonna attract trouble that won't get derailed."

Dean dropped the bottle and cursed thickly. "I'll be right back guys, gotta get a replacement from the stockroom." He stormed past them and through the door, and Sam shot an incredulous look at the god beside him.

"My specialty. Anyway, you gotta get it together boy. Otherwise you'll never get what you want. Understand me?" The god squinted one eye and a tongue that was slightly too long wet his thin lips. "Of course you don't. That's _your specialty_ No Name. Not understanding a single thing that's right in front of you. You don't get Utre and Dean, you don't know your purpose, and you definitely don't understand why you're really here."

Dean reappeared from the stockroom and poured the god a stiff drink. "Anything else Old Man?"

He narrowed both eyes at Dean and frowned. "I'm sorry they ever taught you that. No damn respect from you pups anymore. I swear." It had the sound of an old argument, and when Sam heard someone call for a beer he grabbed it from Dean and took the opportunity to miss the fight. Walked away from the dawning realization that he was more relieved that Dean saw Utre as a mother than upset over the incident with Vechernyaya.

* * *

Sam dreamt about the Native-American god that night. He was leaning back against a tree beside a lake, except he wasn't himself the longer Sam stared at him. He was a man, lanky and overly thin, but he was a pile of dog bones on a mantle of fur, a long sleek coyote panting heavily with an impossible grin, and a mass of darkness and stars that slunk to Sam's side and spoke in a voice that shook the lake.

"I'm gonna help you No Name. I like you, and I think you need it."

Sam wasn't sure if talking here counted against his tasks, so he kept his mouth shut and warily tried to put distance in between himself and Coyote. It didn't work too well.

"Boy, you want to be with your brother at the end of this time or not? I'm telling you this is the only way." Three pairs of eyes and one pair of empty sockets winked at him, and Sam fought dizziness at the sight. When he got control of himself Coyote was on top of him, and Sam had just enough time to struggle, to almost break his silence, and then teeth sank into his shoulder and he began to scream.

He woke to Dean's hands grabbing him, the sound of Dean's panic bright and sharp. "Oh shit. Jimmy you're bleeding bad man hold still. Hold still."

Jimmy managed to get himself under control, to stare at Dean wide-eyed face as he realized what he'd just called himself, and then darkness came back and he was blessedly dream free.

* * *

The bite wound takes weeks to heal, and until it does Dean and Utre take pity on him. He's given light tasks, spends most of his time in the kitchen flipping grilled cheese sandwiches and stirring soups. He has a special twist he puts on Utre's Pelmeni that makes the customers rave, and she smiles proudly at him while Dean jokes about what a good wife he'll make. He can't remember the details of before the bite, how hard this all was, but he knows distantly that there was some cognitive dissonance then that he no longer has. Time passes so quickly now. He is just Jimmy, working for the prize at the end of the road. Working for Dean even if he can't remember why. It's worth it though, because Dean smiles at him more now, the little gods seem relaxed around him all the time, and he enjoys his work.

They close the bar for Dean's birthday, and the three of them drink to excess and laugh together. Jimmy is more relaxed than he's ever been. When Utre says she is going to bed as the sun is setting Dean waves her on graciously and then turns to Jimmy and smiles broadly.

"Looks like it's just us now. Wanna play some pool?"

Jimmy thought of a man he could barely recall, how his gruff voice led instruction as Jimmy fought to seem interested. He nodded once and followed Dean to the felt-topped tables in the corner.

"I should warn you Jimmy, I'm the best there is at this. You don't stand a chance here." His grin is bright, cocky, and his green eyes sparkle in the overhead lights. Jimmy accepts his pool cue and wonders how he could ever question why he'd want to win this man.

The first few shots suggest Dean is right, but as they settle into the rhythm of the game Jimmy remembers more of the gruff man's instruction. He doesn't win the first game, but it's damn close. Dean nods appreciatively, but there's a spark of competition there now. Jimmy wins the next game, and Dean's mouth moves to a different emotion than his eyes.

"Damn Jimmy. You're a hustler aren't you?" His grin is predatory now as he moves closer, and it occurs to Jimmy they've had enough alcohol to pickle them. He leans the cue against the table and nods while sending his own challenging smile back.

It feels off on his face, slightly forced and desperate, but when Dean leans in so close he can smell the shorter man's sweat and aftershave there's no question why he did it. No question at all. He waits for it, breath held in his lungs and arousal warming his skin, and Dean doesn't disappoint. Firm and dry lips brush the corner of his mouth, and then Dean's claiming him. He feels the way Dean open his mouth, lets strong and callused hands roam up under his shirt, and moans into Dean's kiss.

The taste of him, whiskey and red meat and sunshine is enough to throw Jimmy completely off-balance, but he gets his head back halfway in and takes control of the kiss himself. Holds Dean's head and tilts it just right so he can plunder back, taste more, and it feels like he's trying to lick his way into Dean's skull even as he listens to the appreciative noises being returned to him. It's enough, more than enough, but Dean takes it a step further. A hand brushes his belt, questioningly, and Jimmy nods and lets him go, lets Dean undo the buckle and slide his hand underneath the waistband of Jimmy's boxers. When those fingers touch his cock his erection gets unbelievably harder, and he's fairly certain there's no blood left in his head.

He's pushed backwards onto the table, and then Dean is on the ground and pulling him out of his pants before devouring him. Jimmy's pretty certain Dean's done this before, but can't ask and it doesn't matter. When his time is up Jimmy will be the only one Dean tastes, the only one Dean needs, and that's how it should be. He can't remember why, but he _knows_ it is.

Jimmy doesn't last long, makes a noise low in the back of his throat that serves as Dean's only warning, and when it's over he slides down and returns the favor. Relishes in the feel of Dean massaging his skull, pulling roughly on his shaggy hair, and swallows the man down as deep as he can. He gags once, lets himself be led back, and then goes into it again as quickly as is humanly possible. Practice will make it perfect, but at the moment all Jimmy cares about is hearing Dean orgasm, seeing the older man pushed so far over the edge he'll be as silent as Jimmy is. As always, Dean far surpasses his expectations.

Afterwards they stagger upstairs together, fall into Dean's bed in a tangle of half-dressed limbs, and slide off into sleep.

That night Jimmy dreams of a village, devoid of life other than a small group of frightened people. There's a bell in the middle that holds some ominous portent he can't quite remember, but it's the terror on the other people's faces that holds the most sway over him. They're wandering, looking for escape, and Jimmy is right there with them although he doesn't seem to be afraid. When they freeze in place he turns to face a man with bright yellow eyes and a smile that looks bloody and animalistic.

"Hey there boy. You let them take your name. I wish you hadn't done that, but I guess we'll get past it. You remember what I told you?"

Jimmy looks past him at the dark sky, at the stars falling one by one and crashing into the earth. He thinks of Dean, and when he does the yellow-eyed man grabs his arm roughly. "I won't be denied boy. I won't. Let them call you whatever you want, but you'll end up here before it's all done. Dead in the mud just like always, and Dean will follow you down just like he's supposed to. Let that meddling bitch and her antiquated dog do what they want. You'll be mine one day."

There's a dramatic shift in temperature, a warming, and the yellow-eyed man looks over his shoulder at what appears to be dawn. He frowns and then turns back to Jimmy. "When you get your name back boy I'll be coming for you. Play until then, but the work starts soon."

The light crests the hill, the town melts underneath the warmth, and the yellow-eyed man melts with it. Then Jimmy is staring into Utre's golden gaze. She looks concerned, and slightly put-off, but she smiles when she realizes Jimmy is awake. She places one finger to her lips and then gestures for Jimmy to follow. He untangles from Dean and lets himself be led into the main room of the apartment.

"I think it is time for you to start helping in other ways. Dean is a fan of traveling, and assisting people. You have experience with this, so I am going to loan you to him for that purpose. It will give you more time to bond. More privacy as well I think."

Jimmy blushes, but she shakes her head and grins softly. "Nothing to be ashamed about. It is natural progression, growth of love and experience. I am very pleased. Now come downstairs and help me serve until he wakes."

He does as he's told, taking one last lingering look into the bedroom to see the way Dean's eyelashes rest on his cheeks, how his chest rises and falls with his deep breathing.

* * *

Their first hunt together stirs some distant memory Jimmy can't unlock. It's connected to the same voice that taught him pool, and while he can hear it clearly he can't remember the significance of it. Not that it ultimately matters. He helps Dean take out the two fae, slips a cold iron dagger into one's chest on his own, and then falls back into the motel room feeling alive and aware.

His blood is up enough that when Dean crashes into him he pushes back until they're mostly naked and in the little bathroom. Jimmy adjusts the water temperature with one hand while he tries to peel off both of his socks, and failing to remove the left one entirely shrugs his shoulders and lets himself be pulled into the shower. Dean's hands are everywhere, and Jimmy can only moan under them as he's pressed into the cold tile and inundated with smells and sensations. Blood adds an iron scent to the whole thing, and Jimmy remembers a dream of a lake and falling stars before a thick digit presses against his entrance and green eyes dominate his view. Dean's asking for permission, barely restrained and looking more wild than the things they dispatched tonight. Jimmy nods, and then gives in to the feeling of being opened and possessed.

He can remember things through a haze it seems. He knows for example he's never done this before, and when Dean slides a second finger in and bites the back of his thigh Jimmy keens and presses his overly heated face against the tiles. There's something about this they're not supposed to be doing, some line that Jimmy once knew but can no longer remember. Something to do with the gruff man, and then his thought are abruptly cut off when a third finger goes in and Dean's whiskey-roughened tone reaches him.

"Where are you baby? Come back here. Be here." And Jimmy is, fully and entirely _here_ in the hot steam of the shower and the burning and stretching sensation Dean is causing within him. When Dean stands, nudges at him to spread his legs more, Jimmy pushes his hands against the tiles and realizes he has no way to grip on even as Dean's pushing in. He has to trust the older man to hold him up, to keep him from falling, and there's no hesitation there. No sense of wrongness or concern. He has a feeling he's always trusted Dean, and Dean doesn't let him down. Holds him up and steady as he thrusts in hard and sucks at Jimmy's shoulder, at his neck, at the wings of his shoulders.

He wants to ask for more, for Dean to grasp him or hurt him or _something_, but he can't. Can't speak or he'll lose everything. Dean reads his mind though, takes him in hand and keeps the other on his hip and then Jimmy is tumbling over the edge and bursting in Dean's hand while his lungs explode from the force of restraining his words. Dean holds him, thrusts to completion, and then they shower for real.

Afterwards they sprawl across the bed, Dean's foot pressed against the joint of Jimmy's knee and his hand on Dean's hard abs. Dean talks in a sleepy, half-distracted voice. "I don't know where you came from man, or why, but I'm glad."

Jimmy nods, he's glad too, and then he's turning his head to meet Dean's intense gaze. "I wish you could talk damn it. I'd like to know what your real name is or where the fuck you came from. What you want so badly you'd give your life up like this for it."

_His name is Jimmy, which isn't right, but it's the one Dean gave him and that's ok. He is who he is and he's here for Dean. And Dean's worth it. Worth it and more, and Jimmy's life isn't gone it's just put on hold._ He'd say all those things but he can't, so instead he grips Dean's chin and kisses him to shut him up. To make them both mute.

In a month he'll have been there a year. Two more and Dean will be his. Two more and he'll be able to tell Dean everything. Until then, Jimmy prays they can just be happy with this.


	3. Good Evening

A/N: So, this chapter explores, somewhat briefly, the inspiration for this story. Sam abandoning Dean is a heavily explored theme, I've used it myself, but I wondered what would happen if it was the other way around? Also, if you're looking for a soundtrack I was really torn between Imagine Dragons' "Demons" and Starsailor's "Some of Us".

* * *

Dean had known from the minute the kid walked in that he was gonna be trouble. The Weird Sisters going off and Wednesday losing his shit notwithstanding; it was Coyote's simple statement that cemented the idea in his head. _A supplicant._ Three had come and gone since he'd begun living with Utre. They were always trouble. Walked in like they were owed something, and Dean had seen all three of them give up without even really trying. Each promising that their goal was pure, their heart set for suffering for the cause, and each running like a scared dog as soon as things got hard. Things always got hard.

But Jimmy was different, had been since Dean walked in and heard Utre telling the same story from his childhood. Her eyes too soft, too kind, and Dean's first thought was that the kid was going to gut her when he failed. She believed each and every one of them had some chance, and they'd all let her down. Jimmy though, he had exceeded every one of her expectations. Granted she had been nicer to this one than any of the others before, and Dean secretly believed she really wanted this one to win. His belief was given a good deal of certainty when she had asked him point blank to consider the kid a fixture. To not give up on him. He'd taken to every task they'd given him with gusto, and as time passed Dean was glad to see it. What started as dislike grew into something different.

The kid reminds him of Sammy sometimes, and that hurts, but other times he simply shocks Dean. He's so open, so expressive, and Dean enjoys watching him react to everything with those Charlie Chaplin expressions of his. Pantomimes of regular emotions that Dean can quantify and see without having to try and read or interpret. The kid is like an open book and Dean finds he can't put it down. When the attraction begins-well who the fuck really knows? He's felt it in some capacity since he saw Tom grab him, but to explain the exact genesis of it is beyond Dean's capabilities. It doesn't need to be charted like that anyway, it's not that kind of thing. They take it at the pace they take it, and damn the consequences.

He wonders though what will happen when Jimmy gets his prize. Where the guy will go, and if he'll remember Dean after he gets there. There's never any question that he'll leave, he'll have to. He's given up his whole life for something, and whatever it is Dean hopes it's worth it. Hopes that the wish Jimmy is chasing won't let him down.

At some point he discusses it with Utre. Maybe three of four weeks after it's started and Dean is fighting the urge to get starry-eyed and girly about the whole damn thing. He's never been in a relationship before, and he's not even sure this counts as one. Still the possessive instincts that come over him suggest it's a lot more serious than a casual fuck in the storeroom. Jimmy's sleeping upstairs as Utre and Dean take stock and write in what they need to order. She's transcribing busily when he drops the bomb.

"What's Jimmy's wish?" It wasn't actually what he was planning to say. He was planning to ease into it. Maybe ask some questions around it first and then work his way up to the big one. Instead he just lets fly and waits to see if she'll humor him.

"How are we doing on cheese?" She avoids his eyes, and Ithat's/I a first.

"We need more cheddar, sharp not mild, and we're low on swiss. What's his wish Utre?"

She fiddles with her hair for a moment and then looks up at him. "If I tell you it will not come true. Like the wishing ponds."

"Wells. Its-oh fuck you're doing that on purpose now. Look I'm just asking cause it might be relevant to-you know-stuff." He looks away then, fighting the urge to do something childish like blush or stammer.

"Getting his ultimate goal will not change his feelings for you. It will only intensify them. What about meat? We must be out of meat."

Dean steps away from the shelves, kneels in front of her and takes the stock list out of her hands before he clutches them tightly. "Utre. Don't fuck with me right now. I'm serious here, and I'm going way out of character asking this."

Her eyes keep his, the glow in the back of them ever-present and warm. "You are my favorite sweetling, and if it were within my power I would tell you everything in a moment. I cannot though, and that is not a joke. Believe me when I say that he is not asking for something that will split you apart. Now please, stop pressing and take stock."

He doesn't let go of her though. Holds on because she's something stable and he feels like he's spinning out of control. The next phrase gets ripped out of him, drops into the air like an announcement about terminal illness.

"I think I love him."

She opens her mouth, pauses, and then licks her lips nervously. It's another thing she's never done before. "That is good Dean. It is very good. Keep doing that."

But he's already shaking his head, trying to tell her without begin forced to say it. "I don't know who he _is_ Utre. The Weird Sisters called him all those titles, and Wednesday almost bashed his goddamn head in. Vecher spit on him. She's hated me my whole life and she's never gone that far. There's something you're not telling me. Something I need to know before I-come on Utre I'm begging here."

Her big eyes take him in for a bit and then look down at their linked hands. "There is a powerful demon who is using him. Has put influence and work into Jimmy without Jimmy really knowing it. If he-if this course he is on fails he will be the demon's toy. If he makes it to the end of three years then he will be free to pursue the life he really wants."

Dean's blood runs cold, gooseflesh racing across his arms as he looks at her serious and sad expression, as her hot fingers grip him tighter. "What does the demon want?"

She shakes her head and pulls her hands away. "I cannot answer that. It is a part of his service, and his secret to keep. If you wish to help him then continue loving him, and he will fight all the harder to finish his time."

Utre walks away, and Dean is left in the stockroom alone with his thoughts. He can't say he likes it.

* * *

Despite his questions Dean falls into bed with Jimmy every time it's possible, explores every position imaginable, and then eventually he makes the decision that whoever Jimmy really is he's willing to let it go. Willing to simply accept him at face value. Which is what leads them to this moment. What has Dean on his back with Jimmy running trembling fingers up and down his thighs and a look of question on his face so broad and unsure that Dean wants to hit him.

"I said you should man. Jesus just-could you get started or something. I'm feeling ridiculous."

Jimmy's fingers move, and then Dean hears the snick of the lube bottle, a squirt, and tries to remember to relax. He's been on the giving end before, but receiving has never been his thing. This is so far out of his comfort zone it isn't even funny, but he can't tell Jimmy he loves him until he knows who the guy really is. Until he can call him by his real name. So this is the next best thing, and when one finger starts to move inside him Dean realizes it would have been easier to just say it. Jimmy has stupidly large hands.

He feels the hesitation when he hisses and through clenched teeth he manages a simple, "If you don't move that thing I'm gonna kick you in the goddamn face."

Those big blue-green eyes are sympathetic and teasing, and if Jimmy could open his mouth Dean imagines he'd be saying _how romantic_ or something similarly tender and teasing. Although he could be totally off on that. He has no idea what Jimmy would say if he could talk, or what the guy would sound like. He hears a low noise though, and then a second finger is moving in and Dean's gasping at the burn and looking away. Can't take the intensity of watching the man's face as he stretches him open for the first time.

As if Jimmy knows what it's doing to him he taps Dean's stomach and makes him look back. Locks gazes and then Dean's drowning in the ocean of Jimmy's eyes while a third finger is added. He barely even feels the pain anymore, and his flagging erection has found that it can come back to life much faster than Dean ever thought was possible. When Jimmy swallows him down to the root all Dean can manage is a terse, "Goddamn," and then he's thrusting up into the heat of Jimmy's mouth and down on his graceful digits. He feels those fingers ghost over his prostate, and then he's arching again as he rips at the sheets underneath him.

It takes a while for Jimmy to decide he's ready, and by the time Dean's legs are being spread he's cursing and growling at the taller man even as he moves. This is the one place he never calls Jimmy by the name he gave him. Never even suggests it outside of his own head because it's the wrong name. He'll have the right one eventually, will call it instead, but until then he sticks to endearments he'd usually never consider and noises.

He feels the burn come back, Jimmy's three fingers may not have been enough, and when the other man is fully seated Dean is panting and sweating as he tries to remember why he didn't just say the three stupid fucking words. There's a period of adjustment, Jimmy takes Dean's chin and locks their eyes again, and then he's moving inside Dean so slowly that Dean's reminded of Chinese water torture. He thrusts up, gasps at the pain and pleasure of it, and then Jimmy finds his rhythm and really starts to go. Grunting out moans and sounds that he can manage without breaking Utre's fucking rules.

Dean grips broad, skinny shoulders and feels the bones of them as his fingers dig in hard enough to bruise. "That's it. That's it man. Fuck."

Jimmy approves of the movement, keeps his hands planted to either side of Dean as he pushes in hard enough to break him. Dean leans up and licks sweat off Jimmy's jaw, hears the moan and grins. He sucks a bruise into Jimmy's collarbone, over a rib, any spot of skin he can reach as he's split open over and over again. It's worth it, so worth it, and then he grips himself and tugs half a dozen times until he comes. Jimmy doesn't last much longer than that, and then there's a pool of cum in between them, sweat and musk and sex and Dean isn't sure if he wants to stay there or slide out from under the taller man. Jimmy makes the decision for him, rolls over onto his back panting loudly and biting his hand.

Dean looks at him for a moment, unsure if he's supposed to ask or not, and then it hits him. Jimmy wants to talk, and he's trying to stop himself, and the thought of it makes Dean feel so damn elated he may as well have had a second orgasm. He shoves Jimmy's shoulder hard. "Shut up."

Jimmy shakes, covers his face, and Dean hears the smothered laughter underneath his arm. Dean lets go, laughs with him, and the world is perfectly complete.

* * *

Year two is almost over when Dean finds himself sitting in the bar across from one of the Hindu goddesses, staring at the scarf she's knitted him as a late birthday present and wondering when Jimmy's birthday is. If the guy minds that they never celebrate it. His eyes go back to her, and she puts the scarf around his neck and smiles broadly. "Tell June I made this for you dearest. She'll be so jealous."

Dean can't help but tease her, and he sees the way Utre's eyes sparkle at him over the counter. "I thought the whole point of you guys was to avoid the need for material possessions and jealousy?"

She waves a hand and looks towards the table June is sitting at next to the gorgeous blonde Dean's been ducking since his fourteenth birthday, one eye always on her insanely jealous husband. "That's for the punters Dean, not the competition. Plus, it is a good scarf isn't it?"

He feels the soft material slip through his fingers and nods. It's unlikely he'll wear it, but he can imagine using it later to tie Jimmy's hands to the headboard. As if she can read his mind she pushes lightly at his shoulder. "You were sweeter when you were young." Her husband calls from across the bar and she's up and gone before Dean can reply or joke. He steps behind the bar with Utre and polishes glasses.

"So, only a year left."

Her head nods as she pours a glass full of honey-thick liquid and lays it out on the bar. She's always especially careful with this drink. "A year, one month, three days, and seven hours. To be precise."

Dean hates that, but he loves it too. She's counting down the same way he is. He wonders if Jimmy and Sammy would get along. Something about that line of thought tugs at him oddly, but suddenly the Old Man is there with his lupine grin and his antics. "Dean-o! Hey! I missed your birthday boy. Damn shame, I know how you love to party. Why don't I take you out tonight to make it up to you?"

Utre's gone then, delivering the drink and chatting easily with the table as if there was no question that they should all be friends. He lets his eyes travel back to their original point. "Sure. Yeah Old Man. Whatever."

The god shakes his head, expression long and mournful. "You were so cute when you were a boy. Then you had to ruin it all by insisting on growing up. Damn humans."

Dean chuckles once and pours him his favorite booze out of the clay bottle with the paw prints. Lays it down on the countertop and nods once to Wednesday and his son as they wander out the front door singing loudly. "You know, maybe if the group of you tried growing up you wouldn't spend all your days in a bar drinking and having petty arguments."

He glared once, and then a familiar woman with long black hair and eyes a matching shade walked by and the Old Man leaned back and whistled low so she turned. "Raven, I saw your performance in that Hitchcock movie last night. Inspiring sweetheart. When you gonna do a sequel?" Her long fingers fluttered for a second, and then she slammed his head into the bar and walked away. He blinked and rubbed at his forehead for a while before turning back to Dean. "Women huh? Hey how's Jimmy?"

Dean poured himself a glass of water and watched as Utre broke up some conflict between two of the gods, her hands harsh even as the gentle tone of her voice carried over the space. "He's fine. Get to the point before you bust a gut."

There's silence for a moment, and Dean turns to see a serious look on Coyote's long face. He almost drops his glass. "I got a present for you boy. I'd prefer you not show it to anybody though or else I'll lose some of my rep."

Dean can only nod, so shocked by the lack of innuendos and smirking that he can't really process the rest. He finds a small box in his hand, and inside it a tiny pouch on a leather cord.

"You ever really need me you just grab that and think of my real name as hard as you can. You remember my real name right? I told you once when you were young and you beat me in cards."

Dean remembers how hard it was to beat him, how much cheating he had to do just to level the playing field a bit, and then the pouch grows cold in his fingers for a second and when he looks up Coyote's eyes are full of stars. "Yeah. I remember Old Man. Thanks."

Coyote nods once, pulls back from the bar and takes the last of his drink in one long gulp. "Time to start some trouble."

Dean watches him go, shaking his head even as he loops the cord around his neck and tucks the pouch under his shirt. He's busy wiping down part of the bar when he hears the crash upstairs. He goes to move but Utre's past him in a second, and that's when Dean notices that the whole bar has gone silent. That there's an uneasy tension in the room that didn't exist a moment before. He's just about to go up when an imperially slim god with long thin fingers grips his elbow. Where he came from Dean doesn't know, but he shakes his head even as Dean pulls free and heads up the stairs.

He finds Jimmy standing in the middle of the kitchen area, eyes wild and uncertain, knife clutched in his hand and coated in blood. Utre is in front of him with her hand pressed firmly against one side of her face and her mouth moving even as Dean is heading into the scene. "-alright. You are awake now. It is over."

Jimmy drops the knife, hits the floor, and then he's gripping his head and groaning piteously. Dean grasps him tightly and speaks in the lowest voice he possibly can. "I got you Jimmy. I got you now." He rubs at Jimmy's back, counterclockwise, and lowers the taller man's head to his chest. There's a jerk, Jimmy's body going whipcord tight for a second, and then with a whimper he collapses fully into Dean's grip and lets himself be held.

Dean looks over his head to Utre, but she's leaning against the countertop and holding her face together as she stares into nothing. Her eyes are blazingly bright, hard to look at, and then she steps away and towards the door. "Keep him up here. Get him back to sleep and do not leave him. I will take care of the rest." She sounds imperious, cold, and Dean's more confused than he's been in years. He keeps his hold on Jimmy though, manipulates him up and into the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands. It's only when he's carrying Jimmy to the bedroom that he sees that the black door is cracked open.

He pauses, frozen in place and remembering Blackbeard, and then he leans forward half in a trance to glance through the doorway. He sees something that he can't explain, can't even put into a real set of visual images. There's a man chained to a pole in the room, half-hidden in darkness, eyes bluer than any Dean has ever seen before. In front of his eyes the man shifts, becomes a mangy wolf half-starved and madly pulling at his chain, and then the man is back. He's beautiful, intoxicating to look at, and he holds his hands out to Dean in a gesture that can only be seen as imploring. Begging. His eyes shift to Jimmy and he makes a noise that Dean takes to be hunger, and then the door slams shut and Dean's left in the hallway, holding Jimmy up and shaking while his heart beats at a hundred miles an hour in his chest.

He pushes Jimmy into the bed and then sits beside him and strokes his hair. Stays until Jimmy is slack with sleep and long after, listening to the cadence of his breathing and checking his pulse every now and then to make sure it doesn't go erratic again. Time slides by slowly, and Dean's left with only his fear for Jimmy and his memory of the contents of the room. The room he has never been allowed to go in, with the door that never opens. To be honest he half-thought it couldn't open. That it was only a concept or a symbol like the faces he sees in the bar. He knows that none of the gods really look like that, it's all perception, but he still fools himself sometimes into forgetting. Now he has a lot more to forget.

Utre comes in before Jimmy wakes, her eyes tired and her face half-closed. She pauses at the doorway and then comes fully in and leans against the wall across from him. "How is he?"

"Still sleeping. What the fuck happened?" He can't believe it's his voice. Rough and full of anger and disuse.

She touches her face once hesitantly and then looks to Jimmy. "He carries a visitor within him. One I cannot expel. It took over for a short time. I am afraid I was unprepared."

Dean grips Jimmy's shoulder, holds it so he can feel how solid and sure it is under his fingertips. Feel the blood and flesh and know that this isn't some trick of his mind but a real person that he really loves.

"The door opened." It escapes him before he can think about it, before the consequences of such a thing can stop him from opening his stupid mouth.

Utre's already pale face loses even more color, and then Dean realizes that she had her face sliced open and he's shown her almost no concern at all. He glances once at the alarm clock and knows that it's over an hour after sunset and she's forced herself to stay up until the part-timer arrives so that Dean can…

"Did anything-did you look in sweetling?"

He's frozen, unsure what is worse, because she always said not to open it but she never said not to look in. "Yeah. Little bit." Dean'll wait to ask her about the man/wolf, wait to ask about the rest because she's dead on her feet and he's been pretty fucking careless with her tonight. He pushes up from the bed gently and grabs her around the waist, lifts her up, and almost shakes at how frail she feels in his arms. It occurs to him that if the knife went inches lower it would have sliced her jugular open. Can she be killed with a kitchen knife? Dean doesn't know, has never asked. He always assumed she was invulnerable.

"Sweetling wait. Wait. I cannot go to bed yet. I will have a visitor soon."

He's back to gruff, angry and thick. "The hell you will. You're going to sleep Utre."

He carries her out into the hallway and sees Vecher standing in the open area at the entrance to the apartment, dark eyes glittering coldly and hands clenched at her sides. Dean freezes in place, Utre nestled in his arms and eyes locked on Vecher's face. Watches her cross the floor and finger the closed wound, stare at the door, and then put her hand down and step back. For the first time in all the years he's known her Vecher speaks gently.

"You vill stop this now. Daz insists. You lost control of the door, you lost your focus, and you almost lost your life. Tell him the truth and end this game."

Dean's arms tighten instinctually, but Utre doesn't complain. Doesn't argue or try to struggle. She covers her eyes and Dean realizes the goddess is weeping. Weeping silently and weakly.

"What truth?" Dean looks from Utre's shaking shoulders to Vecher's pity and feels the world slip from underneath him. Knows instinctually that whatever is about to be said cannot be taken back. He's tempted to shut Vecher up, put Utre to bed, and continue on like nothing happened. Deflect and deny. It's the Winchester way.

Vecher keeps him from that. Puts her hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eye. "The supplicant is not named Jimmy. You know this. He is named Samuel. Samuel Vinchester. You must-"

But Dean's stopped listening. He drops Utre, not on purpose but because all the strength has suddenly left him, and Vecher catches her at the last second. He sees the way her head rolls, how she's barely got her eyes open at all.

"What the fuck are you talking about? That's impossible. It's not-" And then the strong hand he's come to know so well is grabbing his arm, and there's Jimmy. Jimmy with his big blue-green eyes and his pouty lips and _how the fuck_ did he not see it before? That mulish look Sammy always got when he didn't want to go to bed, the soft eyes that worshipped and adored, all the looks he remembers in his brother's little face writ large across Jimmy's adult one.

Sammy. This is Sammy. He's been fucking Sammy. The world spins dizzily and he pulls back. "Say something. Fucking say something Sam. Game's over now man."

Sam shakes his head, tears in his eyes, and then grabs at Dean again but Dean is too fast. Utre calls to him once, but Dean's already moving. Already gone. He steps out of the bar and into the cold night air, starts up the car, and then hears a throat clear beside him. He turns to see the Coyote.

"Not tonight." He needs to go. Needs to outrun the realizations that hang heavy in the air back there. Needs to move until he can't think anymore.

Coyote's serious look is back. "I can't think of a better time kid. You ride alone you're likely to crash into a tree right now. I'll keep quiet."

Dean hits the radio to assist him in his pledge, makes it twenty miles, and then viciously twists the knob to off.

"Did you fucking know?"

He wants Coyote to say yes so he can hit him. He wants him to say no because somebody he trusted had to not be lying to him. Utre never lied directly though. Only ever by omission.

"That's pretty open-ended Dean-o. What specifically has you running away in the middle of the night?"

Dean glances his way but sees no humor there. No sparkle of mischief. "That Jimmy was Sam. My brother. That I got involved with my brother."

Coyote looks out the window up at the cold night sky and then gestures once, and the car splutters and dies. He gets out without a word and Dean follows him. Follows and throws the first punch.

It's designed to hurt, to maim, and he feels his knuckles split on Coyote's face but the slim god stands unruffled by the action. Stands perfectly still as Dean beats his rage out for fifteen minutes on Coyote's face like the world's most implacable punching bag. When he's out of breath, sore, and bleeding copiously from both hands he stops and dry-scrubs his face.

"Yeah. I knew. I helped him figure out what he wanted. Helped him stop thinking of himself as little brother, and start thinking as Jimmy. Now ask me why Dean."

Dean's known Coyote since he was eleven, and this is the first time he's ever called him by his real name without some friendly add-on. It does something to the hot blood rushing through his veins. Cools him down a bit in a way nothing else could. He remembers Jimmy- no _Sammy_ waking up with the bite mark. Remembers the shift in attitude and how all the gods suddenly got along with him.

"Ok. Good question. Why did you and Utre pretend you cared about me, and then trick me into violating my little brother?" His _baby_ brother.

Dean's surprised when a harsh laugh works its way out of Coyote, and then the god scratches the back of his neck for a long second before he seems to find his voice. "You damn Winchesters. You know the world is in color and yet everything has to be in black and white. How much mythology have you lived first-hand Dean-o, and yet still you think it was malicious? We don't see love in terms of taboos, so put that 'Coyote and Utre made me do a bad thing' shit to bed boy. I'm not gonna listen to that, and I don't have to defend against it. But let me ask you a better question. What did you want Utre to do? Tell you that it was your brother who came to be a supplicant? Ok, and then knowing what you know about his destiny you'd turn him away and Azazel woulda gotten his hands on him. So that one's a bad plan, but what if you followed him to keep him safe? Well then you boys would have been out of the protection zone. So that one sucks too. What's left? You want to armchair coach this thing Dean? You got the 20/20 hindsight necessary to point out all the mistakes?"

And wow. Now he's ashamed of himself, and pissed off about it. Coyote doesn't let up.

"So what'd you do? You turned on her the second shit got rough. You know how many bullets she's taken for you? How hard it's been to stand up to her father, to us, to everything in defense of you and your little brother? That first day you came into the bar and we knew who you were I was at the head of the line to slit your fucking throat boy. It was a longer line when your brother showed up. And what about Sam? Poor little Sam is left standing in that building, rejected by his brother and his lover. He's-"

"You fucked his memory Coyote!" Dean's back on solid ground now. Back to outrage and defiance which is much more comfortable than guilt. "He didn't know what he was-"

"He knew! Knew he wanted you, knew you were special, knew everything. Was that disgust in his eyes when you walked out or in yours? Put your complex aside Dean and really look. Look at what you've done tonight. You wanna walk away boy? Walk away. But don't do it feeling righteous 'cause you aren't. You're just a fucking coward."

Dean threw another punch and this time Coyote side-stepped it and socked him in the gut, drove the breath of him and caught him before he fell to his knees. "You're in a position that is older than you can imagine. You wanna throw love away? Risk everything to be a dick? Then do it, but don't come crying to us when it's over with. The kid-gloves are off now Dean. Time to be a man."

With that he's gone, and Dean's left alone in the dark staring up at the sky and shouting after him.

* * *

Dean returns after sunrise, and finds a stranger at the bar. The crowd is sullen, quiet, and small. He sees the strained smile of June, watches as Wednesday turns away from him and talks to his over-sized son. No one is laughing, no one carouses or argues, they simply drink. Dean orders a whiskey, takes it all in one shot, and then heads upstairs to the apartment. He finds Utre with her head in her hands. Sam is nowhere in sight. She doesn't look up when he clears his throat.

"I-I'm fucking angry Utre. Really angry."

She nods without speaking, fingers moving in her hair as she hides her face.

"You lied to me. You tricked me. I never expected that from you."

She nods again and Dean's rage sweeps over the sympathy and sadness.

"Look at me."

When Utre lifts her head Dean's anger is forgotten, replaced by fear and concern. The wound has reopened, is leaking a small but steady stream of blood, and her hands were the only thing holding it in. Her eyes are dull, burnished copper in her face despite the sun having risen. She looks tiny, young, and so lost it's painful. He crosses the room and sits in the chair beside her, touches her shoulder, and finds her flesh cold.

"What's happening to you?"

"I was mistaken. You cannot be saved. Sam cannot be saved." Her fingers tremble and then she's covering her face again. "I am so sorry sweetling. I wanted to do the right thing and I hurt you. I am a terrible mother."

Utre's words hit him like Coyote's sucker-punch did, sucks all the air out of his lungs, and then he's grabbing her and pulling her into the circle of his arms. "Bullshit. You're an excellent mother. You're my excellent mother. Cut that shit out right now. It's fine Utre. It's gonna be alright."

She's crying into his shoulder, tears and blood wetting his shirt even as her words come thick and strangled from her mouth. "Sam is in the basement. His service is over, and now he must decide if he will stay anyway. If he leaves-Dean if he leaves-"

"What happens if he leaves? What would have happened if we turned him away Utre? I have to know."

She nods once, face pressed firmly against his still, and then Dean feels the wet trail of her face moving up his neck. She doesn't speak, just shows him all the things that should have been.

He sees Sammy growing up with him and dad, turning sullen and angry and unapproachable. He sees his brother turn his back on them, on the very concept of them, and then how it ends in fire and grief. He sees the distance between them grow to unimaginable depths, how hard it is for them to even be in the same room, and then the promise of a return to love and closeness. All of it is destroyed in the moment he sees Sam in the mud, dying in Dean's arms, and he'd scream and pull back from the vision but he can't. Instead he's forced to follow Sam's descent, his death, the end of times. All brought on by the simple understanding that they love each other, and that their love can be used against them. When it's over Dean's shaking harder than Utre.

"This could still-Sammy could-" He can't get it out but Utre understands anyway.

"Yes. It could still happen. Here, at the crossroads for all gods, Sam is protected. The gods have grown to like him. They will keep him as safe as possible. Away he is at Azazel's mercy."

"What about you and Vecher?" He's afraid to ask, afraid she'll say that they've given up. It's not that several pantheons worth of gods backing them isn't enough, but without Utre it'll be harder. Dean's fairly certain that's true, and not just him longing to still have her love him.

"Vecher has been pleading my case to Daz since the beginning. She is only bad at showing her softer emotions. I will-I am not-" She shakes her head once as if words can't form in her mouth anymore. There's blood on her lips and Dean wipes it away softly. "I will never leave you sweetling."

He kisses her forehead, leaves her there and heads for the basement. Heads for Sam.

* * *

Sam's in the basement hauling sacks of oats and yeast. He glances Dean's way once and then slams the sack he's holding down before going back to get another.

"Sammy I-"

Sam shakes his head once, and then manages to croak out a single phrase. It's not the one Dean was expecting, but it's good to hear despite the roughness of the tone. "Fuck you."

"Well we did that." It's horrible, a joke that's dead before it's delivered, and the shock on Sam's face suggests it's the worst thing Dean could have said. He rubs at the back of his neck and then tries again. "Sammy I made a mistake. I just-Jesus kid it scared me. Ok? It scared me a lot."

Sam slams the sack down and crosses the big room, footsteps echoing off the walls like gunshots. Dean's expecting a hug or a kiss, something to cement what they were building under Sam's false name. What he gets is a punch to the jaw that has the world reeling under him and the wall at his back. Then Sam's in his face with an arm pressed across his throat.

"Scared you? You left Dean. Left me. I followed. Fuck scared." It's all delivered in staccato format, tight and terse and thick as if Sam's having to push each word through a barrier. Dean imagines after being silent for almost two years that's not a completely imaginative statement.

He thinks of Sam dead in the mud, thinks of the image of staring at Sammy's body lying in some bed in an abandoned house somewhere. Yeah, he's not apologizing for leaving.

"Sam I-" but Sammy's not finished because he tightens the chokehold to shut Dean up before he leans in and kisses him. The kid got taller than him at some point, and he has to lean down, and it's familiar and new all at once. He lets Sam taste him though, lets Sam lick into his mouth and run his tongue over Dean's teeth. Lets the kiss go on and on until his knees are weak and his cock is throbbing in his jeans. Then Sam lets go and Dean's glad for the wall or he'd fall down.

"What now?"

For a full minute Dean's not sure what Sam means, and then he follows his little brother's sightline to see the two olive-skinned sisters at the top of the stairs giggling. Dean's seen them in the bar before, but they're not around as much as most of the others. Usually they seem fairly dreary, but their dark eyes are lit from behind as they stare.

The slightly taller one gets ahold of herself as Dean finds where his missing bones have gone to. "Nep and I wanted to check on you two. It's good to see you've fixed your problem."

Dean waves them off, one hand covering his eyes while the other gestures in the air. "You wanted to have the gossip. Get out of here."

He hears the door close, and then Sam's in his face again, one eyebrow raised and that expressive set of features asking the same question as before, but for Dean again.

"I don't know Sammy. We just-shit. This whole thing got out of control so fast. We stay because this is where you're safest." It's an easy answer to a complicated question. What will they do now? If the kiss is any indication Dean's not going to be able to turn Sam down for the more intimate aspects of their relationship, and Sam's not gonna stop asking for them. It scares Dean a little, turns him on more, and leaves him wondering how things got so fucked up. It's better than Sam dying though. The very prospect of it turns Dean's blood cold.

Sam tilts his head, and Dean's prepared for almost anything. Just not what actually comes out of the man's mouth. "I want to cook more."

He remembers when Utre first suggested adding meals with stunning clarity. His hesitance. He can't help the laugh that spills out of him. "Cook all you want. Good training for when someone makes an honest woman out of you."

Sam punches his shoulder once and Dean feels lighter, easier, and happier than he has since before the whole clusterfuck started.

* * *

It takes three weeks for Utre to get her color back to normal. She can never clearly explain to Dean what happened to her, what drained her so badly, and he can't find a concise way to ask. Instead they talk about budgets, inventory, bar fights. Anything that doesn't include discussing the big reveal or that hideous night. It occurs to Dean that so many of the pantheons have incestuous relationships she may have never considered it a bad thing. Maybe Coyote was honest about that.

What really surprises him is how often Vecher is there, and the change in her demeanor. She's almost friendly, if the definition of friendship was confined to no longer spitting curses and dropping sideways insults. They fall into an easy back and forth, and one night she refers to him as her nephew without thinking about it. Dean keeps his mouth shut tight, hides his face, and hopes she can't see how badly he wants to make a joke. She wouldn't take it well. He knows logically that this is a good step, but it's a good step onto thin ice.

He and Sam stay basically on the same schedule, and Sam fills him in on the things he missed. He struggles with the urge to call dad. There are so many factors that can't be controlled though. He can't hunt with dad because it would leave Sam vulnerable, and if dad came here he'd kill as many of the daytime patrons as he could before they took him down. Coyote was damn right about that, Winchesters only see things in shades of black and white. Dad would never understand. There's also the factor that Dean and Sam sleep together whenever they can. That they fall into bed in a tangle of limbs, and most nights it's Sam on bottom but sometimes it's Dean. If dad even got a whiff of it Dean would be dead first. Sam would probably die second. There's no way to cover it either because they reek of it, and that becomes obvious when the nightly regulars start joking with Dean about his relationship with "the help".

Dean takes it in stride, watches closely to make sure nobody is giving Sam a hard time, and mostly laughs along with them. After all, it helps him make jokes at Sammy's expense and he's been denied that right for too many years.

He still doesn't drop those three little words though. Can't bring himself to say it because now it has so much more meaning than before. Every time he gets close he shies away, makes a joke or an insult and watches Sam smile it off. If it bothers his brother Sam never says.

The talking though, it's as if Sam's gone from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds. His voice is no longer croaky after only a few days, and then it's non-stop. He wants Dean to tell him about how he's grown up, how things make him feel, what he likes and doesn't like. Sam seems unsurprised when Dean's answers slip into the one-word category, and then he starts dodging Sam at random times by grabbing Utre and using her as a human shield. She seems amused most of the time, but every once and a while she finds an excuse to abandon him there at Sam's mercy. One day he'll figure out how to pay her back for that.

They hunt together, in brief bursts at close range, and Utre never asks them to take anyone with them. Dean suspects someone is there though, takes Coyote's rant to heart and assumes that there's a god or goddess in the wings making sure that the two of them don't get ambushed while they're out. He's begun to see little things he never let himself see before. How closely they watch Sam, how sometimes Sam or he will start to slip and then magically catch themselves, how the only time anything ever breaks when it falls is when it benefits Coyote or any of his trickster ilk. He wonders how long this has been going on, and why no one ever said anything, but if it's a matter of importance no one gives it any time or credence. Dean never asks, never pushes, and never says thanks. He feels the gratitude though.

Then one night they're in the middle of it, Dean balls deep in Sam's tight heat and gasping Sam's name as he grips his brother's hips. He's pretty sure they've been at it for an hour at least, and any minute now the random thoughts holding off his orgasm will have to leave so that he can reach climax. It's that or he'll go insane. Sam's underneath him, gasping and beyond words, or so Dean thinks until Sam speaks.

"I love you."

Dean shakes his head, sweat dripping in his eyes as he tries to figure out if he really heard that right. Sam's said other things that are coos before. _I love this_ or _I love when_, but never-

He should say it back, knows he needs to say it back, because this is the moment. He's known this whole time, known and held it in, and the words are stuck in his mouth just like his orgasm is stuck somewhere in his gut. He feels the tension in Sam's back, the lines of muscles tightening as Sam braces himself for something bad, and Dean knows what it is. He presses his lips against Sam's shoulder, musters up all his courage, and manages only one short sentence. "Fuck Sammy."

The orgasm comes moments later, but there's no joy in it. Sam has already finished, finished forever ago, and they end up lying side by side without touching despite the bed being too small for that to be comfortable.

"You don't have to say it Dean. It's ok."

Dean doesn't sleep that night.

* * *

He looks up from his drink to see a pair of generous hips that lead along a curvy body and end in elegantly coifed hair and dark sloe-eyes. She licks her dusky lips and sits across from him before eyeing his drink.

"Get your own Ish. I ain't interested in sharing tonight."

Her lips pout once and then she gestures to Utre and waits for her glass to be delivered. Utre drops it and crosses the room quickly to separate Coyote and Raven for the third time that day.

"Dean. I hear you're having a problem. You know I've always been fond of you. Maybe I can fix it."

Her accent is heavy enough he has to fight intoxication to understand it. Sam's working the night shift, and he has the whole day to get piss drunk so he can explain not being there. "What problem? I don't have a problem other than nosy deities constantly bothering me."

Her pout is gone in an instant, eyes narrowing as she sips her whiskey. "In my day when a boy got lippy he found that he was missing body parts. Are you that eager to relive the past Dean?"

He rolls his eyes once before finishing his whiskey. Utre doesn't refill it, and he gets the hint and pours it himself, taking the bottle back to his table. "Get to the point Ish. I'm tired of jawing about it."

"If you won't say it you'll drive him away. I've seen it before." Her fingers stroke the lip of his glass before moving back to her own mouth. "You have to decide what's more important; your pride or his sweet little ass."

Dean bristles at that but swallows down his retort. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh no, of course not. i know nothing about love. Good call Dean. Hey, I learned something new about geography the other day."

He bites the bait, but he knows where it's going and he's not eager to get there. "What's that?"

"Denial? Not just a river."

The Celts break into roaring laughter behind her, and she tips her head once before she leaves. Utre walks past eyeing his glass, and then heads back to her spot at the bar.

* * *

Twenty minutes later he finds himself slumped in a bar stool staring at Utre as she carefully pours fifteen of those tiny clay cups full of Sake.

"What the hell is wrong with me?"

She doesn't look up from her work, hand steady as she moves from cup to cup. "You have an over-inflated sense of Western masculinity that equates verbalizing emotions with weakness. You still secretly punish yourself for your relationship with Sam. You under-value yourself because you have always been taught to put your brother first." She finished the last cup and put each one on a tray before finally looking up. "Also, you are drunk, and have allowed a love goddess to put influence on you. Any minute now you will be unable to control yourself, you will climb those stairs, take Sam, and admit your feelings."

Dean wasn't sure if anger or dizziness were his primary emotion. "What? Who would-Ish. Fucking Ish. You let her?"

"Let is a strong verb. But in a word, yes. I did." She walked away then, and minutes later Dean found himself somehow standing in the bedroom door staring at Sam asleep. His little brother was sprawled across the entirety of the bed, and snoring so loudly it should have been shaking the walls. Dean had never loved him more, and he considered all the ways he could kill Ish for this. There were an awful lot of them.

Sam rolled over then, ass pointing upwards and face against the pillow, and Dean's cock stopped any train of drunken thought he'd had before. He was in the room and mouthing his way up Sam's leg before he knew what was happening. He tasted sweat, flesh, and most of all Sam as his brother groaned and kicked none to softly at Dean's midsection.

"Sleepin'" Sam grumbled as he tried to pull his leg away. Dean wasn't having any of it. He bit the muscled thigh in front of him and listened to the resulting moan. That was more like it. It took seconds to remove Sam's boxers, to lube two fingers and get them inside that heat even as he nibbled his way up the thigh. Then the talking started, and Dean's arousal wasn't affected by his horror over the words spilling from his mouth.

"It was your hands first. I'd watch your hands while you chopped ingredients, so efficient and smooth, and I'd get hard."

Sam started to turn around, a grunt of surprise working out of his mouth, and Dean pushed at his lower back to force him to stay on his stomach. Keep him from seeing Dean's face. It was the only bit of dignity he could preserve.

"I'd watch your smile, your dimples, fuck those eyes of yours. All big and innocent and hopeful and I'd want you. I'd want to push you down and devour you."

Dean added a third finger, twisted until he found the right spot, and listened to Sam moan incoherently as he continued biting and licking.

"Then we started doing this and I thought I couldn't want any more, couldn't need anything more, until I realized I loved you. Loved you and couldn't say it 'cause I didn't even know your fucking name. I hate fucking love goddesses."

Then Dean was sitting back, grabbing Sam around the waist and pulling. His brother got the hint and let himself be maneuvered, and then Sam was sitting on his lap, sinking down onto his shaft, and Dean buried his face in the crook of Sam's neck and hid it even as the words continued to spill out.

"Love you Sammy. Loved you since the beginning, not like this, but loved you. Can't stop, can't make it be anything else."

He thrust hard and Sam's head snapped back. He felt his brother's fingers scrambling for purchase on the bed, looking to help him with leverage or speed and Dean pushed at them, kept Sam impaled at his pace and depth. He bit down and then Sam was grabbing at him.

"Dean I-"

He angled just right and stole Sam's words, pushed hard again and again until all Sam could do was make noise.

"That's why I had to leave, because I'd do anything. Anything for you Sammy. Burn the fucking world down if I had to. Kill everything, everyone, just to keep you safe. Fuck."

He was close, and he used one hand to stroke Sam. It took just that one brush of his fingers and Sam was spasming, gasping his name and twisting on his dick like Dean had electrocuted him. It took three more deep thrusts and then Dean was following him down, spent and wrung out, collapsing backwards onto the bed with his head hanging over the edge. The room spun dizzyingly and the blood rush made his face red. That had to have been it.

Sam, who never seemed able to shut up, simply pulled Dean from the edge and then took the spot beside him. Their legs tangled, and Sam stayed silent. Blessedly silent.

The next time Ish came into the bar Sam gave her free drinks and food.

* * *

Sam stood dumbfounded as the deities began to pile birthday gifts on the bar. Dean watched the way his brother stared at the motley assortment. Handmade items, an amulet or two, and a small and very confused looking cat. Utre shooed the cat off the bar and briskly told it to go upstairs. Sam seemed shocked that it listened, and Dean couldn't stop laughing. His little brother had a lot to learn about living with immortal beings.

June presented a cake that Sam ate hesitantly at first, and then devoured like a starving man. Wednesday offered Sam a birthday duel, and Dean declined for him.

They were mid-celebration, gods and goddesses eating cake and arguing almost amiably, when the door swung open and John Winchester walked through it with murder written on his face. He'd aged Dean noticed, but only in the face. His hair was the same color as the last time he'd seen him, and he anchored himself in reality with that bit of the familiar as every patron turned their heads and narrowed their eyes. Dad walked through the crowd slowly, eyes tracking each of them 'til they landed on Sam who was choking on his bite of cake. Dean slapped his back harder than necessary and stood a little taller.

Utre was there in a moment, standing behind the two of them with her hand on Dean's arm, and he felt the reassuring heat of her skin. He waited until dad was all the way to the bar before he spoke.

"What'll it be sir?"

His father's eyes went to slits, mouth working silently, and then he put both hands on the counter and leaned forward. "Dean?" He sounded disbelieving, horrified, and a little angry. It was a better response than Dean had hoped for.

"Yes sir." Sam was standing then, wiping icing from his mouth and keeping his distance without being told. Dean was fucking glad. Behind his father some of the patrons were slipping out silently.

"I don't understand. How the hell did you know Sam was missing? Unless-" He looked once at the bar, glanced at Utre, and then settled his eyes on Sam's face. "You found him and you didn't tell me? How long have you been here?"

"Uh-well I was-I just couldn't-" Sam was looking around, eyes searching for an excuse, and then Coyote strolled up to the bar and plopped down beside dad.

Utre cut in smoothly, face calm and assuring. "Sam arrived a little over two years ago. He petitioned me to free Dean and I set him a series of tasks including two years of silence. It was not his fault."

Dean couldn't believe it, was too shocked to even look her way. Utre _lied_. Lied like a consummate professional, and Dean wasn't sure he'd keep a straight face if he looked her way. He felt hysterical laughter bubbling up.

"So you're the bitch that took my son all those years ago?" His father pulled a weapon, and Dean's eyes took it in and didn't recognize it. A six-shooter, old as fuck by looking at it, and beautifully crafted. Latin on the barrel. He didn't recognize it, but Coyote did. The god reared up, barstool clattering and eyes wide.

"Whoah, hey, let's all calm down now ok? That's not-that's not necessary." He caught Dean's gaze, expressive face flashing an S.O.S. that was unavoidable.

Dad glanced his way once and then looked back to Utre. "Tell me why I shouldn't end you right now."

Utre's hand tightened on Dean's arm when he went to speak. "I have no good reason for that. I was doing what we believed was best. What you already knew and wouldn't say. If you wish to shoot me for that then please go ahead."

Wednesday and his son stood from their position across the room, and his voice rumbled through the space as he squinted his one eye. "Just remember Winchester that you only have six bullets, and there're more than six of us in here. When you're out of ammo we'll tear you limb from limb."

Dean grabbed at her, wanted to pull her back and behind him, but Utre was already stepping forward with both hands up in surrender and that same peaceful look on her face. "You have secrets that cannot hide from me John Winchester. You have committed as many sins under the sun as you have the moon. Do you wish to discuss what you already knew? Do you want to talk about what the gypsy woman told you when you looked for Dean? You knew, whether you wished to admit it or not, that this was the best way. The only way. Fire that gun and everything is undone, all the good work and the bad. All that will be left is the world's blood on your hands. Put your pride and your gun away or be responsible for the end of days."

His father's hand is shaking, and Dean knows why. Knows without knowing how or when, just that the knowledge is there almost instantly. Sam makes a strangled noise, and Dean hopes against hope his little brother will keep his fucking mouth shut. His dad could have found him, could have saved him all those years ago. Dean's both bitter and appreciative, and he doesn't know how to keep all of that silent but he will. For everyone's sake.

Dad lowers the gun though. Lowers it slowly and then puts it away before catching Dean's eye. Which is when Sam breaks all protocol.

"You bastard. You self-serving bastard! All those years and you could have-"

"Samuel." Coyote's voice is tight and totally unlike him. "Maybe you boys should have the family reunion upstairs in private."

Dean leads the way without looking back, and he hears the two sets of footsteps behind him that assure him they're following. He wonders how Utre's going to defuse the situation downstairs after all of this bullshit. When he hits the top of the stairs and crosses to the table to sit he watches Sam refuse the chair he's offered. Instead his brother takes a position against the kitchen countertop and crosses his arms over his narrow chest. He looks like he could kill dad, and Dean's honestly a little afraid of just that outcome.

Dad takes a chair though, looks around the room once in a cursory manner before focusing on Dean. "I didn't have a choice."

That's not true, Dean knows it, but he cuts his eyes to Sam to silence him. "Ok. So now you know where we are. We're both safe and fine. That's good enough right?"

Dad's face cramps strangely, and then he holds one hand out and ruffles Dean's hair. It's a gesture that fell by the wayside shortly before Dean left, and it hurts to have it crop up here in this moment. Hurts worse that he leans into it slightly, as if no time has passed at all. "I just wanted what was best Dean. I'm sorry son. It was a shit thing to do."

Dean shrugs once, keeps his face placid. "I'm fine. I've been fine." _You came for Sam._ It goes unspoken between the three of them, the weight that hangs over all their heads. Between just his father and himself though is the knowledge that he let it happen because he believed Sam could go bad. Believed it without ever giving his little brother the benefit of the doubt. It makes Dean strangely angry, and anger is good. Puts him on even footing in this.

And that's apparently enough for John. Dean can feel Sam bristling but he doesn't look that way. "I'm glad to see you again son. Glad to see you're ok."

Dean nods and then tries to cut this off before Sam loses what little control he has left. "So what's going on sir?" It's an easy out for dad, and a good segue for Dean.

"I need you to come with me. I've got a lead on the demon, but time is running out. Sam should stay here if it's safe."

Dean's about to respond, but he stops to mull it over. Which gives the opening Sam needs to break in. "No." Dean turns to see that Sam's gone pale, his eyes wild and wide, his nostrils flaring as he grips himself. "Tell him no Dean. Right now."

He knows what's going unsaid. What Sam is remembering, and it's like a knife to the gut. Sam begged when he was a boy, but he won't beg this time. Will expect Dean to do the right thing and not abandon him. The problem is Sam and Dean have never agreed on what the right thing is.

"It'll be fine Sammy. You stay with Utre and I'll go. I'll be back before you know it." Dad's eyes are traveling back and forth between them and Dean hopes Sam will keep it under wraps. That Sam will understand.

His hopes are dashed when Sam pushes off the counter and storms out. Dad catches his eye. "He'll be ok. You pack up and meet me outside."

Dean has time to think while he's packing the bag. To consider the many possibilities here. Sure, he's giving it all up again to leave Sam behind, but it's _for Sam_. He'll understand. He'll forgive. He has to because this has to be done. If the demon dies then Sam is free. No more nightmares and no more deadly destiny. He grabs the duffel up and leaves the apartment, glances in the bar but doesn't see Sam anywhere. He heads into the basement and finds more nothing, so then he peeks into the stockroom. Spider is there, wrapped up in some woman Dean vaguely recognizes, and he shares a grin with the rakish god before closing the door. He peeks into the refrigerated storeroom and finds his little brother leaning against a shelf and Utre sitting in front of him and staring at nothing with gleaming eyes.

"Sammy listen-"

"Fuck you." It's the angriest he's ever sounded, and Dean swallows his own rage and grips himself tightly.

"This is for you idiot. The demon dies and you're free. You can go anywhere, do anything, and you don't need to be protected anymore." Which isn't true. Could never be true because Sam should always be protected but it's the gist of the truth and Sam will have to live with that. Utre looks up from the space she's been staring into and frowns.

"Don't give me that shit. My whole life you've been walking away. You want to do it again? Fine. Do it. Just don't put it on me. You get to be the big hunter with dad now, and I'll just stay here and hide out while you live the life you really wanted."

He almost hits him, comes close, but Utre's gaze warns him off. He swallows hard and then directs his attention fully to her. "You'll take care of him?"

"If I asked you to stay? If I said that I needed you to stay what would you say?" She knows the answer. Her face says she knows it, but Dean has to answer anyway. He owes her that at least.

"I would go. You know why Utre."

She takes the four steps to his side and goes up on her tiptoes to kiss his jaw. "I love you sweetling. More than anything. Be safe."

He leaves before she can hurt him any worse. They're two states away when Dean realizes she never promised him anything.

* * *

It's too easy. Dean knows it the minute they walk through the door and find no one waiting for them. The tall figure in the middle of the crumbling room is there though, and dad pulls the Colt and speaks thunder. "This is for Mary."

He's explained the gun, explained all of it to Dean, and still it seems too easy. That all they ever needed to fix the situation was a legendary gun and some magic bullets. He sees the demon's face for half a second, blood red eyes flashing, and then the bullet lights him up and he slumps down dead. There's silence in the room, a heaviness Dean never expected this moment to have, and then it hits him why.

"Dad."

"We did it. Shit son we did it. After all these-"

"Dad. _His eyes._"

Dad stops blabbering, hand lowering as he turns slowly to Dean. Stares for a long minute and then sucks in a breath. "Sammy."

They've been on the road for two days. It's too long to wait and Dean knows it. He reaches for the pouch around his neck and thinks harder than he ever has before. He half-expects it not to work but Coyote's there in seconds, all traces of good humor extinguished.

"Why the fuck are you here boy? Where's your brother?"

Dean shakes his head, can't get words past the blockage in his throat even as dad is heading for the god. Then Dean's being grabbed, and he has time to notice Coyote's hands are as cold as Vecher's before he's flying through space and landing in front of the inferno that used to be his home. The front door has been chopped into pieces, and Coyote sucks in a breath before grabbing at Dean's arm. He's too slow, Dean is already moving towards the open doorway and into the blaze. _Sammy_.

He runs through the burning bar, ducks past exploding bottles and heads up the stairs screaming his brother's name and choking on smoke. The apartment isn't as bad yet, but the smoke is thicker and he chokes on it as he crosses the main area and heads to the hallway. Utre is on the floor, head pressed against the black wood door and in the hellish light Dean can barely pick out which red is illumination and which is blood. He looks into the other rooms but there's no Sam, and he already knew that didn't he?

He grabs Utre up and winces when he feels how light and wet she is. "I cannot go." Her voice is thick and wet, and she coughs what Dean can only assume is more blood out onto his neck. Her breath rattles in her chest, and he wonders if her lung is collapsed. Dean calculates how many hours after nightfall it is. How much blood she's lost. All of it runs through his head as he crosses the apartment and dashes down the stairs with her. Coyote is at the doorway and he lets out a sound like a mournful howl when he sees her in Dean's arms. She struggles briefly at the doorway, but Dean crosses the threshold and carries her into the cool night air. He can hear the sirens of the town's only firetruck down the road.

"Dean I must go back. Daz said-"

"Fuck Daz and fuck that. Where are you bleeding from Utre?" He's looking as he asks, the parking lot's lights unforgiving and brutal. There are so many cuts it's a wonder she's alive, goddess or no. He looks up at Coyote and sees the indecision there. "Coyote. We gotta get her healed."

He shakes his head mournfully and looks around before reaching out and grabbing them. They end up in some big building, made of logs and half-dark. An old and wrinkled Native-American man looks up from the fire in front of him to stare at them, and then takes Utre from his arms before bowing his head in Coyote's direction. The god's voice is sad and low. "Do what you can for her."

Dean waits with him in the main chamber, hands bouncing between his knees and covered in Utre's blood. He's covered in her blood. She was asking him to stay, asking him not to leave because she must have known. Dean didn't listen. He looks up to see Vecher's face pale and swimming in front of him. She looks wet, but that can't be right, and then Dean realizes he's crying.

"My sister?"

Dean shakes his head, doesn't know, and then braces for the pain he so richly deserves. It doesn't come.

"This is vhat she vanted. To be there for you vhen you needed her. Stop feeling guilty, it vas her choice fool."

It takes him a moment to realize Vecher is comforting him. Which only makes him feel worse. When the wrinkled old medicine man comes back out he speaks with Coyote in a language Dean doesn't know, and then toddles off. Dean is standing beside Vecher, waiting, and Coyote turns to them and gives a half-smile.

"She'll live. He's put her in the back of the lodge, and he says we can go there."

Utre's propped up against a wall, wrapped in a thick blanket with her bare and bandaged legs sticking out. She's lost so much color Dean can almost see through her skin, but her eyes glow brightly as if the sun was high in the sky. She doesn't smile at him, but her lips twitch once.

"Sweetling. You are safe."

Vecher steps in front of him and all the warmth is gone from her. "You are an idiot sister."

She nods once simply and then holds out a shaky hand. Dean sees that she's missing three fingers. "I love you as well Vecher." He watches the darker goddess kneel, taking her sister's maimed hand and pressing her face against it.

Dean doesn't want to ask, shouldn't, but he has to. "Sammy?"

Vecher hisses once without turning, Coyote goes as stiff as a board.

"They took him. I could not stop it. There's still time though."

Coyote's already shaking his head, walking away before Dean can ask. Vecher looks up from Utre's hand and catches Dean's eyes. "Say no Dean. Please."

Everything is off, everything feels weird, but Dean can still grasp the basics. Sam has been taken and that's not going to fly. "How do I save him?"

Vecher begins to weep, and Utre pats her head gently with her remaining fingers before gesturing Dean closer. He leans in and she puts the hand on the back of his head. It's so hot he feels his hair singeing.

"Kiss me sweetling. Kiss me and then go save your brother. But return by the third sunrise. Do you understand?"

Dean nods once, licks his lips, and then leans in and presses chastely against Utre. She tastes like summer sunshine, like warmth and gold, and a million other things he can't identify. When it's over he stands and sees that her eyes are no longer burning bright. He nods once and then meets Vecher's wet gaze. "I'll be back."

He finds Coyote waiting for him outside. There's only silence when he reaches for the god and the world slides out from under him again


	4. Good Night

**A/N:** I've got two papers coming up an a house full of guests in the next week, so I don't think the next update will be as soon as I would like. I wanted to get this one out, short and badly edited as it is, before the madness began. Grad School does not care about fanfiction I am sad to say.

If you're looking for a song for this one, I'd suggest Poe's "Hello". The rock version.

* * *

Sam woke up in a dark and damp room with strangers. He looked around at the faces and knew them, recognized them, but he couldn't remember where from. The last clear thing he remembered was hearing the door downstairs being smashed, and then the smell of fire and smoke. Something inside him had gone liquid even as he was grabbing his shoes and heading for the bedroom door. Utre had come stumbling past him, eyes so bright that he didn't need to turn on any lights, and then she had started fighting. The rest was a blur of blood and screaming, fires roaring everywhere even as the smoke choked him until the world went dark. Then here, with these people, and no idea how he got there in the first place. The twitchy guy in front of him holds out one hand and smiles shakily.

"I'm Andy. Who are you?"

And there it is. The dream. Sam dreamed of these people, dreamed of the yellow-eyed demon being here, and he knows without having to dissect things that Dean and dad were tricked. Dean left and now here he is. Dean's always leaving, and Sam's always finding himself worse off than before.

Sam holds his own hand out and shakes Andy's while looking around at the other kidnapped people. The blonde avoids his gaze, but the black soldier and the delicate looking young woman both move forward and introduce themselves.

"Ava."

"Jake."

Sam nods at both of them and then clears smoke from his throat. "Sam. Do we know why we're here?"

He knows. Knows deep in his bones the way he knew how to find the woman that would lead him to Dean. Still this may not be the audience for that sort of information.

Andy shakes his head even as he answers. "Yeah I think so. See we all seem…uh…special you know? Able to do stuff? Can you do stuff Sam?"

Well maybe this is the right audience. "What do you mean by stuff?"

Jake steps forward and lifts the ratty old couch with one hand, his eyebrow cocked in something that Sam recognizes as macho posturing. Ava looks away for a second before blushing and digging her toe into the old carpet. "I dream the future." Her voice drops with every word until she's barely audible. Sam looks to Andy and sees the open and honest look of a young man that's never had many friends, but always deserved them.

"I can make people do things. With my mind." Andy rubs at the back of his neck and Sam's painfully reminded of Dean. IDean will look for me./I

The blonde glares at all of them and takes another step back, her arms wrapped so tightly around her skinny frame it's like she's trying to hold herself in. "I kill people with my touch. So yeah, nothing fun like precognition or super strength."

Sam winces and then turns to Ava. "I have those same dreams. They're usually kind of fragmented, but I can understand them sometimes."

Ava's nodding eagerly and smiling suddenly. "Yeah. Yeah I have that a lot too. Wow." She seems overly breathless, and Sam gets the feeling she's trying to draw his attention to her not inconsiderable breasts.

Jake shakes his head and gives Sam a knowing grin. "Ok, so we're all freaks. Now let's figure out how we got here."

Turns out their origin stories aren't much help either. Their memories are fragmented at best, and not there at worst. Most of them were just grabbed while sleeping. Sam edits his story heavily to protect just how out of the normal loop he is. When he suggests the salt lines they all give him unsure looks, but Andy's willing to try anything.

So when Lily ends up dead Sam's pretty sure something is wrong beyond the demon and the town, but finding Andy dead cements that.

* * *

They've been there over a day and now it's just Jake and Sam. The sleeplessness is getting to them, and they take turns getting rest. Sam takes the first shift and watches Jake twitch and mutter in his sleep. When the soldier wakes up he has a strange look in his eyes, and Sam tries to ignore how unsettled he feels so that he can get his own rest. He falls asleep so quickly it's like a magic trick.

In his dream the yellow-eyed demon is circling him, face on the edge of pleasure and anger. "You gotta do something and soon Sammy. Only one of you can survive, and if you're not quick boy it won't be you."

Sam looks around the village and then back to the demon. "Dean's coming. When he gets here Jake and I will just leave. You're not going to win."

The demon shakes his head and gives Sam a mournful look. "You're it Sammy. Jake can hope all he wants but you've been it since the beginning boy. The rest of this was just window-dressing and misdirection. Nothing your brother or that golden-eyed bitch do can change that." But he doesn't look sure, and Sam catches that.

"Bullshit. I'm going to wake up and we're going to wait it out. Wait for Dean."

The demon looks away fro a second and then turns back. All pretense of pleasantry gone from his face. "That bitch is dying, and her little friends won't be able to find you here. Your brother will end bloody and it will all be your fault. Just give in Sam. Just play along and you can keep them all as pets. Wouldn't you like that? Dean'll never leave you again son. Never turn his back on you for some valiant cause. Instead he'll kneel at your feet, love you, and be everything you ever wanted."

Sam's already turning away, forcing himself to wake up. "That's never been what I wanted."

He remembers the night Dean woke him up, drugged on Ishtar's influence and unable to help the words spilling from his mouth. Remembers the way "I love you" sounded rolling off Dean's tongue. Take the fire out of his brother's eyes? The defiance out of his spirit? Better to kill him because Sam's never wanted anything other than that Dean. The one that said he'd burn the world down.

He wakes to Jake watching him, and he knows without a doubt that the demon has given Jake the same ultimatum. He shakes his head once and pushes himself to his feet.

"We just have to wait. Dean's coming. I know it."

They leave the building, wander the empty streets of the ghost town and Sam finds himself constantly fixating on the bell in the middle. It should mean something, but it doesn't, and Sam's not sure why. The sun has risen on the official second day of their time there, and Sam hears Jake take a deep breath behind him.

"Look Sam, I think you seem like a really nice guy." Sam hears the but and his whole body goes tight, but he can't turn around. He can sense Dean, feel him, and that's enough. "But the demon he-I'm sorry Sam." Which is when the blow comes and Sam's flying across the muddy ground and slamming into an old rotten fence.

He scrambles, pain from his shoulder screaming _dislocation_ as he fights to keep his head together. Dad's trained him for this, taught him how to ignore pain and focus on the enemy, but Jake shouldn't be the enemy. They're in this together. He tries to get that out but Jake's already there and Sam barely dodges a blow that would take his head. His hand comes down on a pipe and he grabs it tightly before pushing himself up.

His dislocated shoulder hangs at a bad angle, and he can't stabilize the arm so he does more damage letting it swing while he moves towards Jake. "Don't." It's the best he can manage.

Jake comes at him, a freight train of motion and violence, and Sam takes a step to the side at just the right second and swings the pipe. Catches Jake in the base of the skull and watches him stagger drunkenly. It's not enough yet though and Sam knows it. He swings again and again until Jake goes down, and then drops the pipe. If there's any hope left Jake will wake up with one hell of a headache and no blood on his hands. He thinks of Ava and Andy and Lily, of how they've all turned on each other or been destroyed. If the devil is all about the temptation of innocents then this has been a pretty big victory.

He's staggering through the main street, pain clouding his thoughts so badly he's almost willing to test the boundary theory just to get out on his own. Which is when he hears Dean shouting his name. He looks up to see his brother with a somber looking Coyote behind him. He speeds up, feet slipping in the mud as he eagerly pushes his aching body towards Dean's strong warmth. He sees an odd flash in Dean's green eyes, a change in expression, and then Dean is screaming his name as Coyote opens his mouth in shock. Which is when the sharp pain hits him.

It's his spine, but it's everything, and the fire racing along his nerves coupled with the sudden loss of sensation in his lower body are bad. He knows it but he doesn't know why. Time folds on itself, and then Dean is there and catching him, lowering him so Sam doesn't fall into the mud hard. He's glad because his knees are the only part of him that don't hurt, but that may be because he can't feel them. Dean's eyes though, they're golden, and he thinks of Missouri when he passed out crying. Missouri who wasn't really Missouri.

"It's alright Sammy. It's alright I got you. I got you." Dean is moving but Sam can't track his movements properly. His eyes are too busy losing focus. "It's not even that bad man. It's ok." Dean sounds like he's crying, and Sam wants to tell him it's ok but there's no breath in his lungs. Which is when he loses Dean and the rest of the world in sharp pitch into darkness.

* * *

Sam's in a dim hallway, and there's a woman in front of him. She's the dark-haired Native-American lady that Coyote is always teasing. Raven. He's sure it's Raven. Her eyes glint at him and then she holds out one feathered hand and smiles softly. "Is this the way you want to go?"

Sam shakes his head, tries to remember how he got here or why she'd be here, and simply can't. "I want to go to Dean."

"Then I am not your guide Samuel."

She disappears, and Sam stumbles further down the hallway. His shoulder doesn't hurt anymore, but he can't remember why it would.

The walls move out, expand and rise, and suddenly Sam is a tiny toy in a room made for giants. The goddess in front of him is unfamiliar, but she smiles like an old friend as rot moves across her face like shadows. "Are you coming this way Samuel? Wodin would be pleased."

He keeps his head up and both his hands at his sides, trying to remember the best way to look grateful but uninterested. "I have to find Dean."

Her look is almost amused, but she steps aside and gestures him onwards without another word. The hallway reduces in size, cramps down, and Sam passes doorways that open for him without looking into them. Dean won't be in any of these places.

The hallway changes texture, and when Sam trips over a root he stares at it blankly for several moments before it makes sense. He's in a tree. Underneath it really and why not? Nothing else is following the rules of reality at the moment. He keeps going, roots taking over the walls and crumbling through the plaster till all that's left are walls of dirt and thick lines of wood. His fingers touch the roots at first, but they become so cold his skin tingles and his hands shake. He has to pull them back and flex until the feeling returns.

He crosses further, and then the sound of something slithering makes him stop in his tracks. It's so dark here, the only light coming from phosphorescent moss on the walls, and Sam peers through the darkness but he can't see what's making the noise.

A hiss comes from a pocket of shadow in front of him. "Ssssamuel. Isss thisss your time to join me?"

He doesn't know the god's name, but he tries to stand a little straighter. Two serpentine eyes rise out of the darkness, and the tongue tastes the air carefully. The snake is large, so large that the hallways only seems to half-contain him, and the size of his head renders Sam momentarily speechless.

"I want Dean."

It sounds childish, pathetic, and it echoes off the walls and down the hallway even as Sam wishes he could take it back. The serpent hisses in a way that suggests laughter.

"Yessss. You would. Then wait for him, and if you can wait he will come."

Sam stands then, stays still, because Dean always comes. Always leaves and always comes back. Sam knows it in his gut, in his very molecules, and all he has to do is be patient.

But it's cold in the hallway, a cold so deep his bones ache and the heat seeps from his skin. He can barely keep his eyes open all the way and his body is wracked with shivers as he fights to stay upright. Somehow he knows if he lets himself lie down, if he doesn't keep standing perfectly still, the great serpent will eat him. That hissing laughter rises out of the darkness again and it occurs to Sam that maybe he said that aloud. It doesn't matter though because Dean will come.

His fingers and toes lose feeling first, and then the numbness begins to creep up his extremities and the shaking lessens as he loses feeling. When the warmth starts he thinks, _hypothermia_, but it only gets hotter. So hot he's sweating, and then the hallway is bright. He can see the way the roots weep a strange liquid, how the snake is not a snake but a bearded old man with a wrinkled face and a furrowed brow. Sam turns then and sees Dean. Dean with eyes as bright as the sun. Dean crossing over the roots and holding his arms out.

"Sam. Come away from him. Now." Dean's voice is so powerful dirt drifts from the ceiling and the bearded man hisses and pulls back from Dean's light. It's not a question of wanting it's a question of ability. Sam totters, rocks on his dead limbs, and then staggers the last few steps until he's falling into Dean's arms. Into Dean's warmth.

* * *

When he comes to he's in an abandoned house and Dean is holding him so tight Sam can barely breathe. "Dude-you're choking me."

Dean hugs him tighter though, squeezes a strangled noise out of him, and then pulls back. "Sammy. Fuck Sammy. I thought-oh fuck I thought you were gone."

Sam's confused, events too hazy in his mind to get clear. He remembers the ghost town and Jake. The fight. Dean calling out to him. Then there's pain and darkness and now Dean and this moldy old bed. He wants to figure it out but Dean's lips are pressed against his and he can't breathe in a good way now.

Dean stands and pulls Sam up off of the moldy bed and into his arms. His big brother half-carries him out of the room and into a bathroom that has seen better days. There's an old shower that works, although the water pressure is bad and there's no warm water. Sam gasps against the cold, and then Dean's incredible heat is pressed against him. He remembers golden eyes, twin suns, and something about a tree, but then Dean's hands are sliding over his hipbones and palming his sides and Sam's moaning into his brother's mouth.

Dean ghosts his lips down Sam's jaw, works over his neck, and then sucks on his collarbone while he runs fingers over Sam's skin, and everywhere he touches lights up on fire. It's intense in a way it's never been before, and Sam can barely keep his balance. When Dean turns him around to face the wall Sam grabs at it hopelessly and finds only slippery tiles and a soap dish. They've had this problem before, and he's never figured out how to get a grip here. He just has to trust Dean to hold him. It's doubly important now that his legs feel like they can barely keep his weight.

His brother makes a broken and mourning sound behind him, and then Sam feels fingers touch his spine and there's a flare of pain that goes straight to his cock. He wants to ask what it is, but Dean's plunging two fingers into him and starting a different kind of pain even as he bites Sam's left ass cheek and murmurs words that Sam can't understand.

He twists his head but all he can see is the little window set in the wall to his side, the stars glittering out of it and the dark night surrounding them. The water cuts off with no warning and then Dean has him out of the shower and shivering in the middle of the bathroom as he dries him off. Wherever they are May is not spring, because the air in here is freezing, and then Dean's heat is enveloping him as his mouth takes Sam practically down to the root.

He's shaking now, hot and cold clashing and his nerves screaming, but Dean's mouth is so incredible all he can do is moan and grip the short hair in front of him trying to draw strength off his brother. When Dean's mouth leaves him he's led back to the moldy bed, and then lowered down and swallowed again. Dean takes him to the edge and backs off until Sam is incomprehensible. Curses and pleas spill from his lips together all tied in with _Dean_ and when his brother finally enters him Sam sees tears leaking from those beautiful green eyes. He grabs Dean's face but he can't formulate the question and then Dean's kissing him. He watches the sun rise over his brother's shoulder, and when he finally orgasms consciousness swiftly leaves him.

* * *

He's in a room he doesn't recognize, and he looks around the rough-hewn log walls until he sees why he's here. It's the first time she hasn't traveled to him. Utre is curled into blankets, propped against the wall with a bedroll softening the floor underneath her. She looks up, and her eyes are dull copper in her pale face. She uses one trembling hand to push her hair out of her eyes and he sees that fingers are missing, and the bandages wrapped around them are bloody as if the wounds are fresh, or that they've never closed.

"Samuel. How did you get here? Is Dean alright?"

Sam nods and then clears his throat forcefully. "Yeah. Yeah I-you didn't bring me here?"

Her head is shaking before she seems to realize that's a bad idea, and she leans it back against the wall. "I will not remember this I believe. I am already fragmenting. Is it daytime Sam?"

He turns around but there are no windows or doors in the little room. He remembers Dean's freckled shoulder, and the sun rising behind it. He's pretty sure that part is true. "Yeah. Yeah it's daytime Utre. Don't you always know?"

Her smile is weak, lost, and Sam moves forward and kneels beside her. He wishes he could remember if she really got this hurt, or if the whole thing is some kind of symbol for a greater truth.

"I have-I am not in touch with that anymore. But Dean found you yes? You are both alright?"

His hands go out against his will, touch her flesh and find her as cold as corpse. He's surprised, scared, and his fingers tremble to show that. "We're fine Utre. Fine. What's wrong with you?"

She touches him, the two remaining fingers stroking his and looking and feeling like a doll's bad attempt at repeating real anatomy. "I gave Dean a gift. A very important gift. That is all I know now."

Sam hears the voice before he realizes it's someone else, and that's odd but this is a dream and logic doesn't exactly rule here. "Tell your brother it is time to return. It is beyond time to return."

He turns his head around, sees the god standing there as pale as Utre and wrapped in black. His long hair brushes over his face, and his eyes are hollows of abyss that scare Sam more than anything else in the dream possibly could. He feels power there, power and anger and it puts him on edge.

"Dean isn't-why would he wait for-"

The god steps forward and Sam's suddenly terrified that he's going to be touched. That this thing will touch him and Sam knows instinctively that if he does Sam will go mad.

"Tell your brother it is time to return. Wake up and tell him Sam."

* * *

When Sam wakes up it's full day and Dean's dressed, sitting on the floor beside him with his head tucked against his chest and his shoulders rising and falling. There's something strange about the sunlight, something off, and Sam can't quite tell what is. He blinks and pushes himself up, but his arms are trembling too much to hold him properly. Dean wakes at the squeal of bedsprings and is on his feet before Sam can fully figure out what he was getting up for.

"Lie down Sam. Stay down. You don't need to be up yet."

Dean's voice is shaking, but his face is steady and serious. He rubs Sam's shoulder once, hesitantly, and then takes a step back to put space between them. The dream filters back in, and Sam pushes himself back up.

"Dean. I had a dream about Utre. You've gotta go back. Something about a gift and time running out."

He sees the way his brother ducks his head once, hand traveling up to the back of his neck in a dead give-away that Dean is feeling guilty and ashamed. "She can hold out for another day or two Sammy. You had a rough time, and you need to rest."

That rouses anger in him, and he manages to get his legs on the ground and stand fully. Dean's moving towards him but he stops when Sam holds a hand out. "I'm not a little kid anymore Dean. I've been kidnapped before ok? I've been held hostage. I'm not gonna collapse in hysterics because of it. So unless-" It's the look on Dean's face, the memory of last night and what Dean said. That flare of pain when Dean touched his-

Sam's hand slides under his shirt and before Dean can grab him he slides his fingers up and finds it. There's that same flare of pain, prodding an open wound, but what he finds is a thick scar over his spine that he doesn't remember. Except, maybe he does. Dean calling his name, the agony and fear in his voice, and the mud coming up to greet him. The pain and then the loss of sensation. _Jake._

"What happened Dean?" The strength has left his voice, which is fitting because it's left his legs too and Dean's barely able to catch him before he hits the floor. He lets himself be held up, and when Dean presses his face against Sam's hair to hide his expression Sam lets him.

"You died Sammy. You died in my goddamn arms because I was too late, just like you were supposed to. Except whatever Utre gave me let me follow you. Let me bring you back." Hiding his face turns out to be irrelevant, because Dean's voice is wrecked and ruined. He threads fingers through Dean's short hair and tries to offer comfort, and he lets Dean's warmth sink into his as he holds his older brother and makes noises instead of words.

They stay that way for a long time, and when Dean has himself under control Sam tries to figure out how to explain the urgency in the dream. "Dean listen, I get it ok? I understand, but we have to go to wherever Utre is. Something is wrong."

Dean's already shaking his head though, eyes narrowed and adopting defiance instead of sorrow. "You're hurt Sammy. You're going to get at least one more day of rest, and that's it. Got me? Utre's a goddess. She knew I wouldn't be back that quickly."

Sam wants to respond, to argue, to ask _how quickly_, and how far beyond that time they've gone. Instead he lets Dean push their mouths together, lets himself be distracted, and spends the rest of the day letting Dean take care of him.

* * *

He dreams that night of a dark hallway and tree roots, of a snake voice calling to him, and then there's light and Dean is there.

Except it's not Dean. It's Utre, and she's not illuminated she's dim. Dying. Sam knows it the minute he sees her. Her eyes are glazed over, and she stares at nothing as her wounded hands lay lifeless in her lap. It's the stillest he's ever seen her with her eyes open, and Sam kneels down beside her and touches her face. She's wrapped in something, and at first he thinks it's the blanket from his last dream but he quickly realizes it's a shroud. His hands shake as he takes her shoulders and feels the cold radiating off her flesh.

"Utre. Utre what's-fuck-" He can't even ask her because he knows. Knows what has happened. Her head lifts slightly to the sound of his voice and her lips twitch in a gruesome half-curl.

"Samuel. Did Dean find you?" She sounds like she's talking from the grave. Like she's been dead a hundred years and her throat is full of dust and rot.

He wants to cry but he can't, can't make his face react the way it needs to. "Yeah. Yeah he found me. We're coming back now ok? Just hold out and we'll be there soon. I promise."

There's that hideous twitch again and then her mutilated hand touches his throat and travels up to his face. "Too late. Tell him I am sorry, but it is too late. My poor little boy. All that burden all the time." She sounds so sorrowful and gone that Sam swallows thickly and pulls back. Can't face the truth of it. He turns to slam into a feathered breast.

When he pulls back to look the swan is tall, towers over him as he's kneeling, and he blinks against the double vision of the bird and the beautiful woman.

"Tell your brother he is a murderer. Tell him we never forget, and we never forgive. He had his chance."

Sam's shaking his head even as he pushes himself up. He looks to Utre for support but she's not there anymore, just a shroud over a pile of ashes. He turns back to the swan and is surprised to find she's gone, replaced by the god from the night before. His face is somber and threatening.

"Tell your brother he is a murderer. Tell him we take care of our own. Tell him everything has a price."

He feels a hand on his shoulder and turns around again to see a little girl, eyes bright like the sun and hair shining golden around her face. "Wake up Samuel. You are not safe here any longer."

* * *

Breathless and shaking, Sam wakes up to Dean staring at him in horror. He shakes his head, wipes the sweat and tears off his skin, and then pushes himself out of the bed. "We're leaving Dean."

Whatever he was saying in his sleep, whatever voices were saying it for him, Dean doesn't argue. They pack into the Impala and Sam touches the scar again as Dean starts the car. The low rumble of the engine is comforting, but Sam's horrified when the radio kicks on. Dean flips channels, moves through news report after news report as if the message will change with the station. Finally Sam halts his progress so they can listen to one entirely.

_Scientists from around the globe have gathered in Cape Canaveral in an attempt to explain the phenomena. As it stands now we only know that the sun has begun to rapidly lose energy. The result is a global cooling, about three degrees in the last three days. At this rate, scientists predict that another few days will send us into a major crisis. A crisis that, according to one scientist, "will result in the mass deaths of entire ecosystems, and eventually the world". A conference of politicians will meet tomorrow in Geneva to discuss further action. At this time there are no-_

Sam doesn't fight Dean when he pushes a Metallica tape in and starts it up. Lets the music reach ear-splitting levels and stays silent as they cross the miles. By the time they reach their destination he has a ringing headache, and his hands are numb from being clenched so tightly. The sun has risen, but the light is sickly and strange. When Sam looks at his brother he sees those glowing eyes again, not green but gold, and gets the feeling that everything has spun so far out of control that nothing can be fixed.

"How long since she gave it to you?" He doesn't think he needs to clarify, and Dean proves him right.

"Six days." His brother flexes his fingers on the wheel and maneuvers his way through the reservation.

"How long were you supposed to have it?"

He knows the answer before Dean gives it. It's always the same in lore and mythology. In fairytales too, and this is sort of like that. Dean crossed over into the underworld for him. Dean stole him from death. _Tell him everything has a price._

"Three." Dean's voice is tight, tighter than his face, and Sam wants to touch him but he knows instinctively that Dean would push him away. Knows in his bones that Dean's scared, and liable to bite any hand offered to him.

They get out at the main lodge, and Sam follows Dean through the door and into a silent mass of gods and goddesses. All the patrons of the bar are here, and they stare at Dean with varying intensities and emotions. Sam follows him silently, head ducked to avoid the worst of them, and is glad when Coyote greets them at the end of the lodge. The god's voice is gentle when he lays a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"You're just in time kid. She's waiting for Daz to come send her off."

Dean shakes his head once, either to deny the time comment or the sending off Sam's not sure, and then pushes into the little room. Sam follows and recognizes it as the first one he dreamed about. Utre is there, wrapped in so many blankets she's just a swaddled head, and her face lifts at the sound of the door.

Her eyes-it's hard for Sam to look. They're the color of corroded pennies and they weave in and out of focus as she runs them over the length of the room. Dean's moving so fast it's dizzying, and then he's kneeling in front of her and taking her face in his hands as gently as he can. Sam sees her struggle in the blankets for a second, and then her bloodless lips purse and she licks them once. "Sweetling. My hands are trapped. Help?"

Dean moves so carefully it's like she's made of spun glass, and once her hands are free she puts her whole one on his shoulder and the wounded one on his face. She doesn't speak again immediately, simply gives the same gruesome excuse for a smile he saw in his dream. Dean is the one who breaks the silence.

"Ok. Ok Utre I'm here now. It's all good and I'm gonna give it back so just-fuck Utre just take it back." Dean sounds as bad as he did when he admitted Sam died. Wounded and broken, and Sam wants to go to him but this is their moment. He likes Utre, likes her a lot, but she's not his mother. He'd felt this way for years when dad or Dean talked about Mary, their real mother, and now he's watching Dean say goodbye to the second woman willing to take that role. He thought of Missouri briefly, and swallowed hard.

"No sweetling. That time has passed. Did you find Sam? I cannot remember if you told me." Her voice is wasted, hollowed out again just like the dream, and he watches her lick dry lips again and convey no moisture to them at all. It's like she's dry-rotting in the sun. It's a hideous thing to see.

"Yes Utre. I found him. That's his big ass over there." It's forced gaiety so hard to hear Sam almost shouts at Dean to shut the fuck up. Utre's eyes move and then she twitches helplessly in place.

"Oh of course. There he is." But her eyes aren't anywhere near Sam and she's not really able to see anyway. Sam knows that, and Dean has to as well. "I am so glad. It is alright now."

Dean breaks. Falls apart in front of Sam like a house of cards in a strong wind, and Sam can't hold back the tears when Dean starts crying. He presses his face against Utre's lank hair and sobs into it. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry mom. Please-fuck please just don't leave me."

Her mangled hand strokes his hair, and then she makes a crooning sound that rattles in her chest. "It is alright sweetling. This is what was to be. We won though. You found Sam, and that is what matters. Where is he?"

Dean sucks in one harsh breath after another and then pulls her tight up into his arms. He cradles her like a baby as he rocks back and forth. "What was I supposed to do mom? He was dead. What was I supposed to do?"

"I dreamed of you once. Long and long ago before you were born. Face so serious and eyes so big. Green the color of the treetops in heaven. I knew then you were worth it. Always worth it. My sweetling. My little boy."

"Shut up. Oh please-shit just-just stop saying goodbye."

She lets him rock her, murmurs something too quiet for Sam to hear, and then the door opens with a loud noise and Sam is turning towards it at the same time as Dean. Vecher is there, with a barrel-chested god that Sam has never seen before. His face is harsh and hard, and Sam reaches out to stop him but Vecher grabs his hands before he can. The god steps in front of Dean and Utre, studies them for a few seconds, and then nods his head.

It's like a magic spell, the breaking of something so precious and simple that Sam can't figure out what to call it. Dean's heart or his innocence or his hope. Sam's not sure. But the blankets collapse in his arms and he's left holding nothing but bloody cloth and his own broken dreams. The sound that comes out of him is like a wounded animal, and it's echoed in the main chamber till the walls shake with it. The god looks unmoved, and he eyes Dean for a time before he speaks. It's a voice Sam knows, accent-less and cold, and he hasn't heard it since the day he found the psychic that told him where Dean was.

"My daughter is gone. You asked what you were supposed to do? It was this. All along it was this. You will be the dawn now."

He looks once to Sam, then to Vecher's tear-stained face, and then he's gone as if he was never there at all. All that's left is the sound of Dean shattering on the floor, and the murmurs from the lodge. Sam's not sure when Coyote entered the room, but the god kneels next to Dean and gently removes the bundle from his arms.

"There's a way Dean. There's a way to fix it, but I don't think you can do it kid. Don't think anybody can."

Sam's not surprised when Dean looks up, and speaks in a tone that could kill anyone in hearing range. It's the first time in his life that Sam has been afraid _of_ his brother instead of _for_ him. "Tell me."

* * *

June's finger is not just pointed at the Hindu goddess of destruction and rebirth, it's pressed into the flesh and pushing further. "Of course he'll go. Dean will go because he's a _good son_."

Kali's mouth opens but a beautiful Asian goddess steps up and interrupts them, tone gentle and sweet. "Juno it has nothing to do with him being a good son. He could never find all the pieces, and even if he did he wouldn't come back alive."

The two little African girls hold each other a bit tighter and wail while Wednesday pushed himself into the conversation, his one eye squinted tightly. "You suggesting Dean can't fight his way out of there? I taught the boy everything I know. If anyone can get out it's him."

A short and twitchy god shook his head in disgust. "You taught Loki too, and he didn't get out. Your training doesn't mean Dean Winchester can get through the Labyrinth better than anyone else."

The fight began then, shoving to prove dominance and shouting over each other. Vecher was leaning against the wall beside Sam, and Coyote was on his other side watching the argument with no sparkle of amusement. Sam turned to Vecher.

"I don't understand any of this. Why can't one of the other sun gods take up the slack? Ra or Apollo or somebody? There's a wealth of them out there. And what the hell is the Labyrinth?"

At some point after Coyote had laid out the basics and before Dean had asked them all to leave Vecher had gotten herself under control. She watches the crowd as she answers. "The Labyrinth is a place of punishment for gods that abandon their duties. As for vhy Utre's job is so important-" She shrugged and closed her dark eyes. Coyote took over.

"We still have followers Sam. Some of us more than others, but as long as you people keep praying we keep doing our jobs. If even one of us slips that combined belief-it falls on deaf ears. Your brother has two choices. Get Utre out or be the new god on the block. Otherwise Utre's followers will continue to be ignored, and the sun will die in the sky."

Sam's head is shaking even if he doesn't want it to. A god went flying past them and slammed into the lodge wall. "She didn't abandon anything. Why is she being punished?"

Vecher's eyes stayed closed. "She gave her power villingly to your brother. She could not do her duties, could not continue to keep the door closed and the universe moving. As such she is relegated to the depths of the Labyrinth."

"And the Labyrinth ain't Veles's little treehouse either kid. This is a serious place. Gods don't go there because we're useless once we cross the border. Dean's gonna be a mortal in that place, and he's gonna have to dig through every layer of it to gather the pieces of her back up before he can try to put her back together. That would be impossible enough, but add on the fact that then he has to get her out without being trapped himself? It's basically-"

"Impossible." Vecher rubs at her closed eyes for a second before opening them and fixing them on Sam. "So you must go vith him. Alone? Impossible. Good money after bad I believe you say."

Sam remembered all the times Utre fucked up colloquial phrases. How hard Dean had laughed at the little old man in _Boondock Saints_. Pointed and howled while stammering out, "That's you Utre!" Despite all the time she spent with people she seemed unable to grasp the concept of sayings, but Vecher got it in one try. It was sort of unfair. More importantly it was fucking odd.

"He won't let me." Sam knew it. Had known it since the first moment Coyote suggested it, the same way he knew Dean would go. Had to go because he would never live with this regret. This guilt.

It was almost movie-perfect timing, the way the door slammed open and all the gods fell silent, some in mid-strike. Dean stood at the head of the room, eyes flaming and body taut, and Sam couldn't help but marvel at the way he already looked like a god. A statue that people should worship.

Fuck it he would make Dean let him come. Make him because Sam was tired of Dean leaving to protect him. Look how it kept working out.

Dean eyed the crowd, face daring someone to question him, and then took a deep breath. "I'm going. Someone tell me how."

* * *

The god stroked Dean's face thoughtfully before he nodded. His dark skin against Dean's was an interesting contrast, and Sam watched how hard Dean struggled to hold still under the god's touch. "You are powerful enough to cross the border. First will be purification. Then you will receive gifts, and hopefully there will be enough. After that the hard parts begin, and then you are on your own."

"Actually, he's with me." Sam almost loved the comical way Dean's eyes flew wide at that, or how his brother tried to mask it with anger.

"You are not coming Sam. Wipe that right out of your goofy fucking head. It's way too-"

"Dangerous Dean? Like every other time you've taken off? Too dangerous? Well look how it's always ended when you leave alone without me to guard your back." It's a low blow, Sam knows it and Dean's face says it, but it has to be done. Has to be done so Dean won't leave alone again. The god shifts uncomfortably and steps back and away. His wife moves forward easily and takes Dean's hands.

"This is a good thing Dean. A good thing. You will need help, and you will need to trust that help. Who better than your brother?"

Dean's look said anybody, anywhere, was better than Sam. He didn't take it personally. Instead he cuffed Dean once heavily and then turned to the goddess and tried to figure out who she was without asking.

"What does purification take?" She nodded once as if that was an answer and then led them to the door to the lodge. She opened it onto a desert oasis, and Sam sucked in a breath before stepping out onto the sand. The heat of the sun was still there in the shifting ground, but the air was cold from the night winds. She pointed to the little pond and Sam stepped up to the edge of it and stared at Dean for a long time.

They undressed slowly, gazes locked as if it was the first time, and then walked into the water until Dean was up to his neck and Sam's shoulders were almost covered. Dean cocked an eyebrow at him in challenge and Sam grinned back. He knew the basics of this, understood the principle and the meaning behind the whole gesture, and the moon shining in the water brightened as he cupped the cool liquid into his hands and gently poured it over Dean's head. Sam had been baptized in fire, but now he was clean again under the cold desert moonlight. He glanced at the goddess as Dean poured water over his head, saw the way her dark eyes shone in the moonlight, and then it was over and he was purified. Which was why he was surprised to feel the heat of his brother's body pressed against him, lips covering his, and a hand stroking his already half-hard length.

He didn't fight it though, slid down so that Dean could encircle both of their cocks with his hand, and moaned into his brother's mouth as he gripped helplessly at Dean's shoulders. He forgot about the deity watching them, the open air around them, or what they were about to do. All that mattered was Dean's hand, Dean's cock, and the knowledge that this was the best it could be. The best it could ever be. Dean ate the sounds of out of his mouth and returned his own. Pushed Sam to the brink and over, and afterwards they leaned against each other for support panting into the cold air.

When they exited she was smiling at them, face placid and calm otherwise, and then she leaned in and kissed them both on the forehead. "You have my and my husband's blessings. Good luck Winchesters."

Sam followed Dean through the doorway and back into the lodge, where a line of gods and goddesses waited for them. It was almost intimidating, but the way they acted like children ready to impress their teachers made it a bit easier to handle. Even more when Dean casually brushed against him as if he wasn't trying to offer Sam comfort with the gesture. Sam grunted to acknowledge it was welcome, and that was enough. They could do this. They could do this together. Anything really, and once Sam realized that it was a hell of a lot less scary despite Vecher's words.

The first to step forward was a woman with the slanted eyes of a cat. She unslung a bag from her left shoulder and held it out to Dean before kissing his cheek. Her smile was tremulous and she turned away quickly after it was done. The man that followed her stared at the two of them for a long time, and then passed a lunar disk to Dean and pressed a hand to his shoulder. "Had I have judged her I would have found her wanting nothing."

The dark man that came next was cold, and Sam was reminded of the hallway he dreamt of filled with tree roots. He passed Dean a red ribbon, and then nodded once to Sam before stepping away. Ishtar came after him and her eyes were dark and full. She gave Dean a small stuffed lion and whispered in his ear. Sam would have to ask about that later. The couple that came behind her gave Dean a little jug of liquid and a grand mace. The woman, queenly in every respect, kissed Sam's cheek without having to rise up to try, and then patted his face seriously. "Take care of him. We're relying on you as well."

Dean rolled his eyes. "No pressure huh Nin?" She simply looked at him.

June pushed her way in front of her bearded husband and held out a small box. Her eyes were shining, and she pulled Dean into a hug so tight that his brother didn't look to be breathing for a few seconds. When she released him she began to cry, and her husband gently pulled her away before stepping in and handing Dean an oak branch. "You'll be fine boy. You're too much a fighter for anything else."

Wednesday pushed his way into the line then, big chest heaving and one eye fixed and focused. His ravens fluttered away as he got closer, and when he stopped in front of Dean the big spear in his hands trembled softly. "I call it Gungnir. Never let anybody really borrow it before. You use it when the time is right. Show these doubting bastards what I taught you." Dean nodded and Wednesday wiped conspicuously at one eye. "I always believed in you boy. Tough as nails."

Vecher led the last three of the contingent. The man behind her stood taller than Sam, and his hawkish features took in the room as he walked regally ahead of Vecher and held out a small jar. Fire danced inside of it, and he squinted once down at Dean before clearing his throat. "My granddaughter believed in you. Both of you. Make her right."

The two women behind him held onto each other, mirror images in a way that didn't invite consideration. The sloppy one stumbled forward and pushed hair out of her eyes only to snag her fingers in it. She frowned at that and then leaned forward and plucked a button off Dean's shirt, ripping it in the process. Dean jerked once, but the woman stumbled past him to do the same to Sam. He held perfectly still, and she eyes him for a bit before shambling back to Vecher. The woman behind her walked easily, gracefully, and she kissed Dean once on the forehead, and then moved to kiss Sam as well. "What my sister Zia takes, I Dobra give."

Which left only Vecher, and she looked around the room before she stepped forward. She didn't look to Dean though. Her eyes stayed focused solely on Sam, and she grabbed his arm and jerked downwards so that their faces were even. "Good money after bad. Say you are not that."

"I'm not good money after bad." He tried to keep his voice clear, but he stuttered slightly when he saw the way Dean's thoughts turned. He wondered if he was remembering the old bartender in the movie too.

Vecher kissed him on the lips, tasting of snow and ice, winter winds and the moon in a clear night's sky. Which was weird because Sam had never-

But then she was stepping back and her eyes were a dull flat blue, still dark but no longer shining or powerful. "You have three days. That is an infinite amount of time in the Labyrinth, but this time vhen you come back do not dawdle." Despite the words her tone was almost gentle, and then she stepped back and nodded to Dean. "Go get my sister."

* * *

Coyote stares at the cellar door for a long time before he looks over his shoulder at the two of them. "You boys know what the difference is between fate and destiny?"

Dean shakes his head but Sam thinks he may have an answer. He senses though that he's supposed to say no, so he does.

"Destiny is changeable. Happens due to actions. Your fortunetellers and palm readers read destiny and tell you all about it. Then you make it happen or you try to stop it. Fate though. What a bitch. Fate happens no matter what." Coyote eyes the door again before stepping away from it. "You know what your fate is?"

Dean simply cocks an eyebrow, but Sam takes the bait. "No Coyote. What is it?"

He shrugs once, no smile anywhere in evidence. "No clue. I'm not a fucking oracle. Good luck boys.


	5. Good Day

**A/N: Aaaand we're back. Lotta reading assignments, seriously grad school is murder, but I'm working on the next chapter as fast as I can. Soundtrack for this one is Ray LaMontagne's "Shelter".**

* * *

The cellar door leads to exactly what he imagined it would. A cellar. When he turns to tell Coyote the joke isn't funny there's no one there but Sam. The space behind Sam though, that's not the house they entered from. Instead he's faced with a passageway lined in slimy looking stones and illuminated by his skin. Utre should have warned him that god powers make things fucking ridiculous. He'd feel even more silly if it weren't for the strange way Sam's eyes are glowing, and how cold his little brother has become. Between the two of them they could really fuck with a thermostat. So there's that.

He figures that nothing was ever accomplished by standing around thinking about it, and then he heads straight forward into the Labyrinth. They've explained the concept, but it's still not really something he's sure he understands. At the forefront of his confusion is the idea that anyone would punish Utre for anything, but thinking about her for longer than a few seconds is a call to madness, and Dean can't afford to be crazy right now. Can't afford to linger on the feel of her dying in his arms, or the sensation of having her very life-force inside of him. Which is why he starts talking like a short-lived blonde in a horror movie.

"You know Sammy, I never really liked this movie. Didn't make much sense."

He can hear Sam mulling it over behind him, and then he savors the incredulous tone in the response. "Dean are you serious? You're referencing Jim Henson right now?"

The walkway opens up for a left turn and a right. They consider both before turning left without discussing it. "Yeah man. Hey remember how you cried at the scene in the forest? With the Wild Gang?"

He ducks beneath an oddly placed branch and thinks of the hallway in the Underworld where he found Sam. How his brother looked in the darkness, how Dean's heart almost stopped as Sam fought to move towards him. Half-dead and pale, standing there as if he was just waiting to fade away. He clamps down on that thought hard.

"The _fire_ gang Dean. I was a kid, and they were decapitating each other. It was fucking creepy." Sam sounds about six when he says it, and Dean feels the smirk crossing his face.

"Ah hey baby, I'm sorry. I don't mean to creep you out down here. Let me just kiss-"

"Hey Dean. Remember _Where the Red Fern Grows_?"

There's silence as they make a right at the next turn and continue along the mossy walls. Silence as heavy as death, and isn't that appropriate. Dean finally finds the words he wants. "You're fucking heartless if that movie doesn't make you cry Sam. Heartless."

"Oh sweetheart," Sam's voice saccharine and Dean wants to kiss him and punch him all at the same time, "you're so right. Let's get some ice cream and-"

The sight in front of them shuts Sam up pretty effectively. The tree is humongous, reaches up into a bright blue sky so dazzling Dean squints into it and wishes for sunglasses. Beside him Sam takes a deep breath and then looks around the flat earth here at the tree's base. They hear the sound of two little girls laughing, brought to them through the still air in stereophonic quality.

"So uh-where's the-" Dean's not even sure what he's going to say. He expected the first chamber to be filled with torture equipment. To be the picture he's always had in his mind of Hell with racks and blood. Screams at the very least but the delighted squeals sound pleasant and relaxing. It's disconcerting to say the least.

He turns to see Sam and sucks in a harsh breath. His brother is…radiant is a good word but not quite right. It's not that Sam isn't hot, shit Dean knew that even if the thought brought on a sick thrill every time. It's that Sam's something else right now, and Dean can't remember exactly what it was he looked like before for a proper comparison. Sam's cheekbones have a sharpness that begs to be licked, his skin has become smoother and paler as if he was carved from milky marble. All trace of tan is gone, and while that's not usually Dean's thing it sets Sam's eyes off so abruptly that Dean finds he can't look away. The swirl of colors is still pronounced, but the blue in the center of them is so dark and bold that Dean's not even sure what the color would be called. It never occurred to him that they would _look_ different, and if it's affected Sam this way what has it done to him?

Sam catches his eye, raises one brow, and then turns his attention back to the tree. "I'm pretty sure we have to get up there." Which is a useless observation because the tree is probably as tall as the goddamn Empire State Building, and the branches don't start until the top. Climbing it is out of the question, and as far as Dean knows neither of them has gained the power of flight. He studies the bark before trying to sink his hands into it, and finds that it won't give even a little so that he can ascend towards the top.

Sam snorts once and then shakes his head. "Dean what did you think the gifts were for?"

He has to bite his lip until the urge to curse at Sam's tone goes away. He's not stupid after all, but from Sam's voice you'd think he suggested they gnaw on the tree until it fell over.

"Ok. Sammy. Red ribbon or jar of fire?" It's still caustic, sharp, and Sam looks surprised for half a second. As if he didn't know how he sounded.

"I don't-wait open the bag."

He grabs Bastet's bag off his shoulder and undoes the complicated tie before holding it open for Sam. It's not the most manly of accessories but it's already proven itself to be useful. Plus it seems to have once belonged to Mary Poppins the way it holds the random collection of stuff the bar patrons gave him.

Sam digs purposefully, one pink lip clenched in his teeth, and Dean considers biting that plumpness for him. Which is really fucking inappropriate but Dean's been thinking a lot of inappropriate shit since they got here. When Sam pulls out the branch from Jupiter he cocks his own eyebrow. "Really Sammy? A branch? We gonna try to reach up and poke it or-"

Sam's smugness is completely unwarranted. How his little brother knew that planting it would create a rapidly growing monster tree is a mystery, and not one that anybody could figure out. He covers his appreciation and pride with snark. "Ok Bob Ross. Happy trees. Got it. Now what?"

The smile disappears, is replaced by a grimace and a considering look. "I guess we climb the branches?"

* * *

Counting the time of the ascent in hours is a pointless task. It's a lot and Dean knows it, way more than they should be able to use climbing, and considering they only rest in a bower once it's pretty amazing that they make it without their arms turning into useless noodles. There's a thick branch that crosses the gap between the two trees efficiently, and Dean balances carefully as he crosses before watching Sam do the same. The top of the giant tree is flat, the leaves so densely woven they act like a solid floor. Dean's stopped looking for logic at this point.

Ahead of them two little girls are playing in the sun, laughing as they clap their hands together and chant something he can't understand. He remembers Utre's story as he watches them. Their glee is evident, the darker one slightly taller, but happy and radiant in a way Dean has never seen before. The little blonde with the golden eyes follows her older sister's movements carefully, a smile crinkling her eyes as she keep up the rapid pace.

It's not at all what he was expecting to see. They said this was punishment, a place of hideous torture, but she looks so happy that Dean doesn't want to step forward and break the mood. Then it hits him like a freight train, and he has to grab Sam to stay upright. _Collect the pieces of her_ Coyote said. The pieces. This is one of Utre's memories. No doubt one of her happy ones, free from the burdens of stopping the Apocalypse and keeping the Winchesters from blundering into every danger humanly possible. This is Utre before she was split from her sister, before all the madness and blood and struggle started. It's probably the last totally pure and happy moment she had, and here it is laid out in front of him like a scene from a movie. Dean finally understands what Coyote was saying. Why all the gods looked so damn sad. The place has split her apart, taken from her every bit of light. Which means when he finally finds Utre's core it will be devoid of any joy, any of her usual sparkle, and left dull and aching in some dark pit.

Dean wants to break something. Wants to make something bleed, but the only one at fault is himself. Worth it? He never knew Utre was a goddamn lunatic.

Sam seems to pick it up a second later, makes a harsh noise at the back of his throat and then pats Dean's hand in a distracted manner suggesting not comfort so much as mutual horror.

"So how do we get her?" When he finally turns to look Sam's face is the picture of sympathy, and it only makes the copper taste in Dean's mouth more pronounced than he ever thought it could be.

He knows though. Without knowing the origin of the knowledge or the age of it he finds the answer in the back of his brain. He digs through the bag again and then pulls the little box June gave him out. Hesitation won't get them anywhere, and there's something of a time issue here. The longer the place has Utre the worse off she'll be. More fractured and pained than-

He crosses the leaves and crouches beside the two little goddesses. Vecher eyes him suspiciously, and the world is right again.

"Hello Utre. Hello Vecher. Do you know me?"

Dark eyes narrow down to slits even as golden ones light up impossibly bright. "You are new! Are you our friend now?"

Utre steps forward and Vecher grabs her little arm and yanks backwards. _Good instincts Aunt Vecher. Too bad you couldn't stop her later._

"He is a stranger Utre. He is dangerous." Her voice is childlike but full of all the venom he remembers. It softens when her sister turns to look at her. "Ignore him and stay vith me. Let us play together always."

Sam's hand clamps onto his shoulder and he hisses lowly, "That's not Vecher is it?"

Dean knows it's a courtesy, but he nods anyway. The Labyrinth has a will, and it'll be damned if this is easy for Dean.

"Utre. I need you to really look at me." He tries to keep it soothing but it comes out so rough he may as well have a thrustful of broken vocal chords. She turns anyway, the Labyrinth's hand on her elbow and her tiny fingers touching little pink lips cautiously. It hurts him to see her like this. Almost as much as watching her die. "Do you recognize me?"

She steps away from the Labyrinth then, her fingers moving from her lip to Dean's. She tilts her head thoughtfully and then leans in and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. When she pulls back her eyes are brighter than ever, and Dean's surprised the illumination doesn't bother him at all.

"You are-you taste like me." She looks confused and delighted all at the same time, and Dean wants to hug her.

"Yeah. Yeah sweetheart I do, because I'm your son. I need you to come with me ok?" He hears the huskiness there, recognizes that he's on the verge of tears, and bites the inside of his cheek until his mouth fills with blood. Sam's hand is still on his shoulder but it's gentle now. Cold and comforting.

"But-Vecher says-"

Then Sam is beside him, all that length folded into a small space so that he's eye level with her. "That isn't your sister Utre. Your sister is somewhere else, and she wants you to come back. You have to leave with us to do that though."

Utre's big eyes glance once over her shoulder at the angry approximation of her sister, and then back at the two of them. "Will I like where I'm going? Is it as pretty as here?"

Sam looks Dean's way, swallows, and Dean's left to lie to her. "Yeah. It's just as pretty Utre."

He holds the box out, hoping that this is real and not some crazy delusion he's come up with. She puts her hand against it, and then she's gone and there's a scream of rage from the Labyrinth. They're not in a tree anymore, and Dean wobbles once on the stone floor before getting his balance. Sam's there to help, to hold him up, and Dean's infinitely grateful.

"Cut it out man. I'm fine."

Sam nods, knows better but nods anyway, and Dean bites off anything else and simply heads further into the dark.

* * *

The hallway begins to narrow, and at times Dean has to turn himself to squeeze through tight passages. Sam's been ducking on a regular basis, and Dean wants to tease him but he's pretty sure Sam would point out that Dean hasn't had to duck yet. Damn overgrown little brothers. When the Labyrinth finally opens back up into a new room Dean sees an old-fashioned pub. It's in better condition than the one he and Utre took over, but the same open configuration of brick and wood. He recognizes most of the gods in it, but he's surprised to find Utre standing at the head of them looking at least ten years older than the girl version Dean is carrying in June's box. She's gripping a table with a nervous expression as she studies the pantheons spread out in front of her, and he watches her shove hair behind one ear before she speaks.

"My grandfather has given me permission to create this space, to name it, and to open the door to our world for all of you. It is in our best interests to be united. The new religion is not going away. It is gaining in power and followers, and if we are not together we will be crushed against it."

A goddess Dean doesn't recognize stands, reptilian eyes narrowed down. "You must be joking. They are a fad. They have no chance at all. I personally have consumed over six of these ridiculous winged creatures, and I will consume their master one day." A few of the gods rally behind her, but the slim Hindu god that grabbed Dean the night he learned who Sam was stands slowly.

"We are not afraid of being replaced, but we recognize the danger inherent in this new religion. We are with you." The pantheon behind him nods and murmurs, and Dean sees some of the tension go out of Utre.

Pantheons stand and pledge allegiance or argue against it, until the room has thinned out somewhat and those that are left take their turns touching the door and murmuring in a variety of languages Dean has heard but never learned. When it's over they break out liquor, all their own specialties, and then begin to drink and talk together. Utre takes a seat apart, and Sam touches Dean's waist briefly before murmuring in his ear. "This must be the prototype for Polaris. Did you know they were formed to fight against Christianity?"

He's about to shake his head, to say he didn't, when Coyote steps up to her table and sits beside her. Dean takes a half-step forward and leans in. He's never heard the story of how they became friends.

"Hey girl. That was quite a little speech you gave. You really think these upstarts are trouble?" He pours some of his own liquor in her glass and she takes it, eyes shining with alcohol and power.

Dean watches her take a long swallow, wipe her pink lips and smile softly at nothing in particular without really looking at Coyote. "One day they will bring about the end times, and they will hunt us like animals in the wild. I think this may help stop it." Her hair falls into her face again and she pushes at it with a huff of annoyance.

Coyote's hand settles on her chair, directly behind her shoulder and stroking the wood softly as if in thought. The mischievous look is back in his eyes. "You talking about that prophecy stuff? The thing about the mortal brothers?"

He hears Sam stutter step behind him and begin to breathe hard. He can sympathize, but it's important that he hear the next part. That he understand. Utre's not looking at Coyote still, but it doesn't matter because Dean knows what she's seeing. _I dreamed of you._ "Yes. That prophecy stuff. I am speaking of that."

Coyote shakes his head, fingers trailing off the wood and onto her skin. "Darling I'll you tell this much. Those kids ever come to the real world and I'll slit their throats. That'll stop that mess quick and simple."

Utre's eyes narrow, her hand stretches back and takes his, and then she's twisting cruelly as Coyote yips in pain. "They will not be hurt. They will not be touched. Do you understand?"

Dean's so proud of her he wants to grab her and hug her, but he lets her be and watches how this'll play out. Her eyes finally move to Coyote, and she looks deadly and beautiful. Alive. So painfully fucking alive.

"Drink your drink, and be merry Coyote. We have created a war party." She releases his hand and picks her shot glass up. The gods have begun to thin out and Dean watches them staggering their way to the door, singing bawdy tunes and jostling each other.

"It's council girl. You know you got this whole damn room fooled. They're all thinking this is an allegiance to fight, but you're planning peace." He looks proud of her now, proud and something else Dean isn't sure he wants to see. That hand creeps up again and Dean starts to move forward but Sam stops him. "Pretty ballsy of you I gotta say. You ever considered the Trickster life?"

Utre's fingers stroke his hand once before picking the shot glass back up. How it's refilled now Dean has no idea but she slams it back before pushing at her hair once more. He knows where this going, and he digs desperately in the bag until his fingers land on a specific item. He prays that his button and the strange kiss were worth the luck it may have given him.

"You may be able to-" her words cut off when Dean steps directly in front of her, and he smoothes her hair back and threads his fingers through it. He's done it once or twice before, and the action stirs up familiar memories that make his hands shake. He uses the ribbon to tie her hair back, and her eyes go soft and fond. "Thank you."

The Labyrinth version of Coyote has no stars in his eyes, and the narrowed gaze suggests that he may attack at any second. Dean glances once at Sam and when he gets the _I'm watching him_ head nod he strokes Utre's shoulder and kneels beside her.

"Do you recognize me?"

Her nose crinkles in consideration, and she looks at him for a long silent moment before she touches his jaw. "You have my eyes."

"I apparently taste like yah too, but I'm not too sure about that one. I was hoping you'd come with me."

Coyote half-stands, and Sam's moving forward before anyone can say anything. His little brother takes the Labyrinth clone in a lock, and twists its arm up brutally. Utre's mouth goes into a wide "o", but Dean turns her back to him.

"I need you to come with me mom. Will you trust me?"

She looks down at the proffered box, back up at his eyes, and then smiles uncertainly. "Your eyes have changed."

"Yeah. They have. Come with me?"

She doesn't ask anything else. Touches the box and it's all gone. Sam lets Dean stay there silently for a few minutes before they get up to leave.

* * *

They don't talk until they reach the next room. Utre's standing with another god that Dean doesn't recognize. His eyes are black spheres set into a white face, and he frowns harshly as he stares at an image of Dean. Dean recognizes the scene in front of the two deities. It's him at eight, standing in a grocery store. He doesn't remember how much money was wadded into his pocket, but he remembers the helpless feeling of weighing the need for meat against Sam's love of Lucky Charms. How hopeless and small he felt surrounded by chattering housewives sending him sidelong glances as if he was some orphan begging for food. Not that he didn't look like an orphan in his Salvation Army cast-offs, standing in a store in the middle of a school day with that look on his face.

Sam takes in a deep breath as he looks at the scene. It was before he was old enough to go to school, and he was tucked in safely in front of the TV in whatever motel they were in at the time. Dean remembers the urgency to get back then too, and he glances once at his not so little brother to assure himself that there's no urgency anymore.

The god's voice is cold and distant. "This is the mortal that spells your doom Utrennyaya, the mortal that spells the doom of the entire world. You look too tenderly at him."

Dean takes in her face then, and all he sees is the same look she's been giving him since that night in the kitchen. That hope and love spilling forth so easily it's like she was made for it. Lunatic.

"Yes I know all that." Despite the tenderness on her face she sounds annoyed, on edge, and Dean takes in the line of her shoulders before she steps forward into the vision and kneels in front of him. She looks young again, not the little girl from the first scene but not much older. Her fingers ghost over where his face is. "But despite that Morpheus, look at his face. Look at his Isoul/I. Is this little boy really to blame?"

"He won't be little forever Utrennyaya, and when he grows up he will be dangerous. More dangerous than anyone knows. I have spoken with Destiny. This is an unavoidable thing."

She makes a face like she's bitten into something rotten. "Destiny. Spoiled and useless. This is not a thing that cannot be changed."

The god suddenly looks uncomfortable, and he shifts under his black cloak before putting a hand on her shoulder. "I did not show you this to suggest such a thing. I showed you because you asked me too."

She can't seem to look away from Dean, and the scene in front of her shifts to him back in the motel room. Him making Chef Boyardee in his socks as Sam tells him in rapid fire about the cartoon he was watching. Dean glances Sam's way and sees the look on his face, halfway between embarrassed and tender. He wants to kiss his brother then, to tell him that these are some of his best memories too, but Utre's talking again.

"He loves him." She sounds shocked, amazed, and the god takes a step back and waves his hand but she stops the movement. She steps into the scene again and puts her face inches away from Sam's motormouth. "He really loves him. More than anything in the world he loves his little brother." She turns back and Dean sees tears on her face, shining tracks leading away from the twin suns blazing above her pursed mouth. "Tell me that is bad. Tell me that is not worth saving."

The god shifts and then shakes his head. "You cannot foil both sides of Destiny Utrennyaya. Either you will save the world and die, or live in the aftermath. You know what we must do. We've done it before."

She shakes her head and stands, staring at the two little boys for a moment and then turning to look at Dean. It's the first time she's sought him out, and his hand moves like he's in a dream. Holds out the box without a word. The Labyrinth sees it too late and shifts but she's already moving even as she speaks what he doesn't doubt she said once before. "Let me die then. That is too precious to be wasted."

The fake god turns to them after she disappears, the image of the memory still around them despite her being gone. "You think you'll win Dean Winchester? That you will take her from me? She belongs here. If you stay much longer you will too. I will bury both of you so deep that your suffering will be legendary."

Then the room is gone, and the walls have gotten so cold even Dean's suffering from them. He's kinda pissed the thing took off before he could mention that it ripped that line right out of the _Hellraiser_ script. The passage turns narrow, and the rocks are sharp. Still he takes Sam's hand and they squeeze onwards. Squeeze each other.

* * *

"We didn't use a gift there."

They've been pushing through this latest set of twists and turns for what feels like days, and Dean's pretty certain he's on the verge of madness. To make it infinitely worse they've found seventeen dead ends, and at one point he almost pitched into what appeared to be an endless chasm because he was busy griping at Sam. He can't remember what he was complaining about. He thinks back and then rubs at his tired eyes and stops in the middle of the passage. They're both covered in cuts, seeping blood, and Dean's fairly certain that's not god behavior. They said he'd be lacking in his new Utre-given abilities, but the eyes and the heat made him think they weren't entirely right. He should have listened.

"Does it matter Sam?" He can hear the strain, the edge, but he bites off more words in an attempt to downplay just how edgy he feels. Sam picks up on it and tries to ease some of the tension even as he ratchets it up.

"In the stories you have to use each gift. So it stands to reason there's a room for every gift, and we've only used two, not counting the bag and the box. That leaves, what six? Do the kiss and ripped button count? And what were those anyway?"

Dean uses it as an excuse to lean against the sharp stones and pinch the bridge of his nose in an attempt to mitigate the headache he's been fighting. "The button was taking bad luck and the kiss was giving good. We've used the good luck already I think. I can't be sure."

Sam's eyes are bright in darkness, silver and shining. "When did we use that?"

"The ribbon. Or not taking that fall. Maybe it works more than once." He looks ahead and then makes a decision. Without telling Sam he turns towards the dead end and steps to the edge of the gaping hole. He looks down it for a long second and then nods thoughtfully. "We gotta go down."

Sam's face is mixture of incredulity and pity. "Dean I know you're stressed ok but-"

"You don't know a goddamn thing. It's not your mother down there suffering. It's not your fault she's-" He cuts himself off at the hurt evident in his brother's face, cradles cold skin in between his hands and puts his forehead against Sam's in the hopes he can suck the words back out of his brother's brain. "I'm sorry Sammy. I'm sorry. Not fair of me I know. Look, let's just go down ok? I'm sure it's the only way. Everything else is dead ends. Can you just trust me?"

The unspoken _please_ is there, and Dean underlines it by putting his lips against Sam's in a chaste kiss. There's silence, and then Sam grabs his hand and jumps, pulling him into the darkness.

When they land they're staring at Utre, and she's staring at them. Well at the memory of them. Dean is wrapped up in bed with Sam, his little brother's head perched on his chest and his hand resting firmly on Sammy's back and moving in his sleep. Utre's eyes are dim, soft, and Dean realizes this is shortly after he realized who Sam actually _was_. He steps beside her and tilts his head to watch how Sam softly snores, and how his head shifts with each of Dean's deep and even breaths. He puts one hand on her shoulder and she doesn't jump.

"Why is this a good memory Utre?"

She doesn't speak for a long time, and on the bed Sam shifts and snuffles in his sleep before his mouth falls further open. Dean resists snickering when Sam starts drooling. Shoots his brother a look and sees the blush there that always pleases him too much.

"This was the moment I was reminded how very much you meant to me. It was the moment I knew for certain that you would save Samuel from doom." Her voice is heavy, sad, and that's surprising because these are good memories. Memories when Utre is happy.

"Then why do you sound so sad?" Sam's own tone isn't much better, and Dean looks again to see that his little brother's eyes are shining in more ways than one, but he's looking at the bed and not Dean.

"Because it could not last forever. I wanted it to. I wanted to stop time right here and see my precious boy and his loved one always in this perfect moment. Sated, asleep, and so happy they radiated it. Anyone who saw this could never ask me if I really believed they were worth everything that would come later." When she finally turned Dean saw just how dim her eyes were. He remembered the blind look from before, when she was dying, and his hands itched to grab her but he couldn't. Not until he knew what to grab her with. "But then you came and took the one from him, and this all fell apart. All our happiness. Our family. I had a family again."

Then she struck out, and Dean ducked just in time to miss her fist catching him in the face. Instead it hit the wall and splintered through it. When he looked over her shoulder again he saw that Sam was alone, sleeping, and the room was filling with smoke. She pushed past the two of them and into the hall, her voice ringing out like cathedral bells. "Come for me now! I am not afraid!"

Dean sees the demons, sees the way her eyes glow so bright that the fire seems dim in comparison. He looks to Sam, but his brother looks both surprised and frightened. It's all new for Sam. Utre slams her hand into one demon, and Dean watches it disintegrate in front of his eyes before she gives the kung-fu "come on" gesture he spent so many hours teaching her. She's distracted though when one of them slips past her into the bedroom, and she turns to get him before he can get to Sam. She's screaming Sam's name now, her face streaked with soot and blood, and as she's burning the demon reaching for Sam another one slips in behind her and her shouts stop abruptly. Dean's at an angle to see why even if the look of confusion on Utre's face suggests she doesn't know. She turns to the demon and the knife sticking through her back, and no doubt into her lung, is long and wickedly lit by the mixture of lights.

She stagger steps forward, punches her hand through the demon's face, and then slams into the hallway to find two demons pushing at _the door_. Dean sees the fear enter then, and one of them swings a sword and takes the three fingers she throws up to protect her throat. He sees Sam stumble out into the hallway half-awake, sees his little brother reach for her, and then the eyes he loves so much roll up and Sam's down for the count. Being carried away as Utre fights one demon and takes hits from two others' knives. When they leave her the door is cracked and she's barely breathing. Dean watches her reach up with her wounded hand, fumble to grasp the knob, and then use both hands to pull it closed before she slumps.

Two minutes. He was two minutes late to stop her from being carved like a fucking Thanksgiving turkey. Two minutes late to save Sam from being grabbed. _Two fucking minutes_.

He kneels beside her even as his Labyrinth counterpart slams through the door, and when he sees that version of himself he knows instinctively that if he lets her go off with it there will be no retrieving this part of her even if he's not sure she'll really want it or why it's listed in the memories she wants to keep. The ones that hold her together and make her happy. He reaches into the bag without looking and the mace comes to hand as if it's calling to his flesh. He wields it simply, easily, and the Dean in front of him crumples under the blow. When it's done his shoulder feels disconnected and the mace disappears like a magician's trick.

Dean goes back to Utre, sees Sam holding pressure on one of her many wounds as tears flow freely down his face. It's Sam that asks the question Dean wants to know so badly. Sam that breaks the barrier in the room.

"Why this one?" He's watching the way her eyes fight to focus, how her chest rattles as she tries to breathe through one collapsed lung and six people's worth of death.

"Sweetling-" She's reaching past Sam even as she's looking at him. Focusing her big eyes on him as the light flashes. "Saved-came for-loved me and-"

Dean can't hear anymore. He shoves the box into her hand and she winks out of existence along with the hellish scene he came upon. He's left with Sam, and he wraps his brother into his arms and fights for words he doesn't want to say out loud. Wants them to go unsaid because if he utters them they can never be taken back.

"I should never have left you. She said it and you said it and I fucking didn't listen. I'm sorry Sammy. So fucking sorry because I could have saved both of you and I just-always I have to fucking think-"

But Sam's shaking that big shaggy head, hair tickling Dean's neck as he grips him and sobs. "You would have died too. You would have died and then what Dean? Then what?" He takes a shaky breath and then presses his lips against Dean's throat in that spot that makes him fucking crazy, although the farthest thing from his mind right now is sex. "I can't live without-fuck Dean I'm glad. Glad you left because you lived and that's what matters."

It's hard to believe him right then. Hard to believe that what matters could ever be Dean living, because it's always been Sam. It was Sam when he got in that big fucking car and rode to the Polaris for the first time, Sam when he looked at Jimmy and wanted more than he had a right too, and Sam when he walked out the door to face the demon armed with nothing more than the Excalibur of guns and a wild fucking hope. Sam. Now it's Sam and Utre but Dean isn't even sure about that. Isn't sure that he can witness much more without going insane.

* * *

The passageway curves back and forth on itself, dips up and down, and then just for kicks the ceiling drops hideously low and they're forced to drag themselves along the cold,wet ground until the top opens back up. Sam's unusually silent, and after a while it gets to Dean in a way he never expected.

"What was it like growing up with Missouri?"

Sam makes a noise and Dean feels him jerk, although whether it's surprise or consideration he doesn't know. "Uh. It was good. She over-fed me sometimes, but she insisted it would aid in growth spurts."

Dean laughs at that, and it's an honest one for once. "Well she succeeded on that one Sasquatch." Sam joins him in laughter.

"She was really nice you know? Took a lot of interest in my schoolwork, tucked me in at night, and she always listened to me. Plus I met a lot of interesting people. I guess the only two bad things were not having you and that it was hard to keep secrets."

Dean considers that for a long time. All the stuff he attributed to Missouri Dean used to do for Sam. He remembered tucking him in as a little boy, except Dean would always lie down next to him to protect him from nightmares. Putting Sam on the school bus in the morning, and listening to his stories at night when he came home. Sam had always been a talker.

"Utre said she separated your food for you." It comes out without his considering it, and he hears that noise again and then Sam's cold hand grabs his shoulder and turns him around.

"She told you about me?" There's a weird look on Sam's face, and Dean realizes at some point the illumination in the area has stopped being his and become Sam's. The light is paler, softer, and he recognizes it as the difference between high noon and a full moon. He studies Sam's expression for a bit before he answers.

"Every day. Before she went to bed she'd sit at the table and we'd talk, and she'd tell me about you. Why?"

"She sent me dreams about you. All the time. It was the only thing that helped me not give you up. It was the reason I devoted my life to finding you." Sam brushed a thumb against Dean's cheekbone and he held in the noise he wanted to make, but he did let himself lean into the touch. "It kept me sane."

He thought of how Sam looked when he arrived under his fake name, and it all finally made sense. "Yeah. She's like that." He refuses the past tense, refuses to admit that she may never be like that again. They'll get her out here, and then he can explain his mistakes and hope she forgives him. He can finally thank her for the depth of her trouble. Mostly he can shout at her about survival instinct.

They turn a corner and all the lights are gone. Stars twinkle somewhere impossibly high, and in the empty feel of space ahead of them Dean hears murmuring. He grabs Sam's hand tightly and they move forward slowly and cautiously; feet scraping the ground in case it falls out from under them. They climb a hill and the voices are finally close enough Dean can make them out. The one is Utre, but the other is foreign to him. Male, certainly, but he doesn't recognize the speaker. The accent though, that's definitely midwestern. Oklahoma or Kansas, not twangy enough for Texas.

"So everybody that prays to you gets to meet you? That seems a little inconvenient."

Utre laughs softly in the darkness, and Dean feels his chest clench tightly. "It certainly would be. No it is only special cases. Your grandmother was very devoted, and she prayed for you often. I was fond of her."

He feels Sam's fingers move in is hand, stroke his palm, and he wonders if he's been so weak recently that Sam thinks even this small admission would result in an emotional moment for him. It's not like he never thought Utre would favor other mortals.

"So you can make Cathy pick me over that rotten sonuva bitch?" The guy sounds half hopeful and half disbelieving, and Dean hears him cough thickly four or five times. It's the sound of a person who is sick, and has been denying it for many years.

"No, I am afraid love is not one of my purviews. I am here for other reasons Leonard. What did your doctor say?"

Leonard coughs again, except this time it becomes a full blown attack and when he's finally finished he makes a wet noise that has Dean wincing in sympathy. "Three months. Four at best if I stay in the hospital and let 'em dose me a lot. Like that's happening." He sounds resigned instead of bitter, and that's interesting but not why Dean's here.

"Your grandmother once gave me a picture of you. I know that you are a Protestant. Why did you pray to me tonight?" She sounds tender, gentle, and Dean knows that voice all too well. It's Utre getting geared up to do something. As if her being up in the middle of the night isn't already stupid enough.

"Grandma used to tell me that you were the only one who ever responded. I was kinda tired of praying and not getting any word back. Does that make sense?"

He hears the soft low noise of a kiss, and then there's a deep breath that he's pretty sure isn't Utre's. "All the sense in the world Leonard. Go home. You will find things very different in the morning."

Dean sees a light then, a steady beam that leads away and illuminates only the ground and Leonard's boots as they cross it. When he's gone Dean clears his throat and Utre's voice comes out of the dark weak and lonely.

"Who is there?"

Dean digs in the bag for a long time, until his fingers find the disk that is too cold for him to hold longer than a few seconds. He throws it up, as hard as he can with his still too loose feeling shoulder, and then watches as it spins upwards into the dark sky. It hits something, maybe the ceiling of the room, and then blows up to the size of a broad full moon. Suddenly the landscape is illuminated, shows Utre lying still on the grass under a tree with her hands folded over her stomach and her eyes dim but smiling. Always fucking smiling.

"You are the boy. The one who will bring great chaos to our world. I was sure you would come later." Her lips are curled softly, and she stays reclined even as she speaks. "But my, how your little brother has grown. Look how tall and strong."

He takes the spot beside her on the grass and Sam lies down on the other side of him. Their hands entwine again, and then he uses his free one to take one of hers. "You should be asleep Utre. It's late and you're never very good after the sun goes down."

"He would have died tonight. The doctors could not factor in the effects of a broken heart. It is a terrible thing that the heart can destroy the body. Do you not think so?"

He closed his eyes and thought of Sam dead, Sam in the mud, of Utre crumbling into nothing but air in his arms. "Yeah. Yeah it's pretty fucking bad."

Sam kicked in then, his voice strained against something Dean could feel, but didn't dare look over to see. "It's worth it though. To feel stuff like that? To love something so much that it makes you crazy, breaks you down, and it's just really amazing that people get that. What would life be without it?"

Dean swallows hard and stares up at the moon. "Geez Samantha, that was fucking sweet." It's the best he can offer, and Utre starts laughing so hard her hand becomes hard to hold onto.

"Jesus Dean give it a rest. Just once could you put up the manly bullshit and feel something openly?" But he doesn't really sound angry. He sounds fond and affectionate, and he squeezes Dean's hand despite the harshness of the words.

"Sam I'll be that girly the day I die."

"Or the next time you let Ishtar dose you."

"We weren't-that wasn't supposed to-what the fuck Sam?" He's spluttering, knows it, and then Utre's patting his hand and turning her head his way.

"You two love each other that much. I have known that since the beginning. What are you doing here though?"

"I came to get you. You're trapped in Labyrinth, and I need to collect your pieces." He watches her eyes widen, watches how she bites her lower lip softly before looking back up to the moon.

"So Destiny got her way once more. Is Vecher alright?" She doesn't sound sad though. Confused a bit and maybe curious, but not sad.

"Really broken up. 'Nough so she gave Sam her powers so we could come get you. She didn't spit at him or anything."

Sam's laugh is distracted, and Utre makes a smile that is common when someone is apologizing for their socially awkward friend. "Yes. She is bad at emotional displays. Much like you I believe. How are you taking me out?"

He lets go of Sam long enough to get the box, and she stares at it for a bit before reaching for it. "I am sorry Dean."

Then she's gone, and so is the night, and they're lying on the cold stone beside each other. Sam takes several deep breaths and then shatters the silence with a tremulous voice.

"I feel like I'm falling apart. Like I wanna scream and cry, but I want to grab you and fuck you at the same time."

Dean breathes through his nose, one hand rubbing helplessly at his face. "Yeah. Me too."

The silence grows, swells, and when Sam speaks again it doesn't seem to affect it. "Let's move faster."

* * *

It's Polaris, and Utre's in the apartment's kitchen with a look of determination on her face and a whisk moving at super-human speed. Coyote's leaning indolently over the counter watching her. Dean knows without any other indicator that this is his twelfth birthday. The first one he spent with the goddess.

"So what'd you get him?" Coyote dips a finger into the tub of icing and Utre hits his hand without looking his way.

"I got him a cake. What do you mean?"

Coyote makes a face and goes for the icing again only to have his head smacked this time as Utre puts the bowl down and goes for the cake pan. "A present Utre. Kids, mortal kids, get presents on their birthday from their parents."

She looks up from the cake pan, her face suddenly pale and wan. The light in her eyes dims marginally. "A present? I did not get him a present. I was making the cake. With sprinkles."

Dean wants to say something but Coyote steps forward and takes her face in his hands, his own suddenly tender instead of joking. "He'll be happy for that. Calm down."

"No. No I forgot it. How could I forget? It is so obvious to be giving gifts. He will expect it." She looks around the kitchen helplessly, and then her eyes light up again and catch Coyote's. "I know."

"Utre it's not-wait you know what?" He looks uncomfortable suddenly, but Utre slides one hand into non-existence and comes back with a ring. The small stone hanging from it glints strangely in the light. Dean knows it all too well, he wore it on a necklace until he turned sixteen and it fit his ring finger.

Coyote's black eyes go wide. "That's-uh darling that's a bit much for a kid. Don't you think?"

She shakes her head and then slips it into the pocket of her dress before she moves out of his grip and pours the rest of the cake batter. "It is not enough. He will not understand now, but one day maybe. Then it will mean enough."

Dean fingers the ring as Sam glances his way. He shakes his head to indicate that day hasn't come. He was glad to get it, impressed she thought of it, but it was always just a special gift because it was from her. Coyote slips behind her then, and the impression Dean got before is cemented when he places a tender kiss on her neck and rests a hand on either hip. "You're too damn nice, you know that right? That kid is gonna be the death of you. Literally."

She glances over her shoulder at him and then steps away to pop the cake into the oven. "Yes. Alright. But not today."

The scene jumps, leaving Dean slightly nauseated and Sam holding his elbow for balance. His child version is there and was he ever really that short? She hugs him once before presenting the cake as breakfast. Coyote grins and winks at him before taking a seat. "She baked it special Dean-o. Just like you like it. With kid filling."

Younger Dean rolls his eyes dramatically. "Bullshit Old Man. It's made with flour and stuff."

Utre cuts him a slice that should be too big, and then stands near the counter peering apprehensively as he bites into it. When the smile crosses his face Utre's eyes go bright and liquid. "You are liking it."

Younger Dean nods and then talks around his mouthful. "It's awesome. Thanks Utre! Don't you want some?"

"Maybe later. Eat up sweetling. This is your day today."

Sam leans into his ear. "This is really nice. Were they always like this?"

Dean thinks of all the birthdays that span the years he's been with her, and then compares them to the ones before her. He has hazy memories of his real mom, of dad and a dog, and a house that looms over him on fire no matter what he tries. They were like this. Utre forced the day to always be nice, pleasant, and it was hard to make the comparison before. He missed his family, but those were the days Utre worked so hard to make everything perfect Dean couldn't find the time to be melancholy. It always began this way too, with him waking up to find a cake and Utre's smile waiting for him. Even when he was a teen and he bristled at the idea of being locked in the bar and not hunting she had found a way to distract him. To make it special.

He puts an arm around Sam's waist, drops a kiss on his little brother's neck, and then steps into the scene. The Labyrinth freezes in place and the two fakes stare at him hard and cold as Utre's eyes move from little Dean to adult Dean.

"I never thanked you enough. I barely ever called you mom, but you were. I just took it for granted you'd always be there."

Her face trembles, and then she throws her arms around him tightly. "You were the best thing. The best thing always. Stop being so mean to my best thing."

"Utre, I need you to-" All the breath leaves him and he hears Sam shouting his name. Utre's holding him up, her face perplexed and then Dean turns and sees his smaller self standing with a club in its hand. It spins the club once and he's pulling out of Utre's arms and grabbing it halfway. The shockwave up through his hands is agony.

Sam's grappling with Coyote, and Dean uses one hand to tug on the club and the other to dig in his bag. He hears Sam's grunt of pain, and he pulls out the little stuffed lion. He almost feels stupid. Right up until the little lion comes to life, roars, and then surges out of his hand and rips the smaller version of himself to pieces before launching onto the fake Coyote's back and tearing it to shreds. Sam's left on the ground staring up where the lion was for half a second before it disappeared, and then Dean hears a noise and turns to see Utre with a hand over her mouth.

"Sweetling." She looks horrified, and Dean slides the box into her hand even as he touches her face. She's gone, but the memory of that look will haunt him until the end of time. He turns to pull Sam up and then checks his little brother over even as his back screams at him that the Labyrinth hits hard.

* * *

"Not many gifts left." Sam's moving slower now, favoring his ribs as Dean tenderly pokes at the bruises forming over his spine. He glances at his brother once and then stares into the dark and damp passage in front of them.

It's fucking weird. Utre's been alive for centuries, and this is the limit of her happy memories? Two without Dean, and the rest about him or featuring him. He's pretty sure the next one will be the time he got the windows installed, but he's hoping not. There has to be more joy to her life than this. Has to be. He nods once to acknowledge he's heard Sam even as he limps his way along the corridor and into the depths of the Labyrinth. If the fakes get much more violent they're going to have serious issues. The offensive capabilities of their arsenal are dimming with every confrontation, and what's left in the bag doesn't promise much in the way of warfare. Still they'll fight their way out empty-handed if they have to.

They come around a corner and find the scene he was expecting. It's weird, because he was ready for it but now his hands are twitching. Without warning he's crossing the Polaris and pulling the other him out of her arms before slamming the Labyrinth's head into the bar. He could hear her wailing in horror, felt her hands grabbing at him, but he kept slamming his own handsome face into the bar over and over again until the features were unrecognizable, and the smirk was finally destroyed.

When he looked up he saw the way Sam was holding her back, trying to soothe her, and how she shook. He paused, tried to clear his throat, and then shook the shame off as best he could.

"It wasn't-Utre that-Sam tell her." He sounds half-feral, even to himself.

"OK Utre. It's ok. I got you and Dean's sorry. There was a better way to do that. We're just on edge right now."

She keeps shaking though, her hands pushing away from Sam and reaching for the battered fake. Dean can't watch it, can't take it anymore, and he shoves the box in her questing hand and then stands perfectly still with his battered fists at his sides.

"Dean what the hell were you thinking? You scared the shit out of her!" Sam sounds furious, and Dean tries to ignore it but that's sort of impossible.

"I just-_fuck Sam_. This place is making me fucking crazy. And all her good memories are me. Whose life is that fucking sad?"

Sam just looks at him for a long time, and then stalks deeper into the Labyrinth without him.


	6. Good Life

Sam's furious.

Furious at Dean for the ham-handed way he approached the last room, furious that Utre is locked in this place like a criminal, but mostly furious that Dean thinks memories of him are a bad thing.

Sam would kill to have this many happy memories with Dean. To have a lifetime of history and experience with his brother, and if that makes him sad then so be it. _Asshole._

He knows he should slow down, or explain it to Dean, or something other than stomping off like a little kid, but he's so angry at that moment he's pretty sure he'll hit Dean in the face. Hit him and not stop, because that's what this place is doing to them. It's stripping them of their control, their humanity, bit by bit and Sam knows it, but he can't seem to do anything about it. So instead he keeps a fast pace and listens to Dean catching up and hanging behind him like a shadow. Every memory has been targeted, specific, and Sam is suspicious that he Labyrinth is doing that on purpose. Maybe there are other happy memories, ones that don't include Dean, and it won't let them see it because these are the ones that hurt his brother the most. They've been pissing the thing off pretty regularly.

When they cross the threshold into the next room Sam stares for a long moment at the scene in front of him. Utre is at the bar, and the lights in the windows suggest that it's daytime, but other than the rumpled looking man sitting in front of her there are no other patrons. Which is very odd.

Dean makes a noise behind him and looks around for a minute before his eyes zero in on the man in front of Utre.

"Do you recognize him?" Sam's proud of how even he sounds, as if he's totally in control right now even when he knows he's still on edge.

Dean shakes his head once and then steps forward to hear the conversation better. The man, or god or whatever he might be, is wearing an old tan trenchcoat over Mormon clothing. His eyes are a sharp and hard blue, and his fingers rest perfectly calm on the bar as he studies Utre and she studies him. Which is when Coyote walks in with Loki, and everything goes to Hell so quick it might have been scripted that way.

"Hey darling I was just-" Coyote's eyes narrow, and then he launches across the bar floor and grabs at the man on the stool. The man dodges back at the last second, and then slides a strange silver knife out of his coat sleeve even as he speaks in a flat and calm voice.

"You are attacking an angel of the lord and-"

"I know exactly what I'm going at Halo." Coyote lunged again even as Utre reached for him, and then when he missed he turned on his heel and slid forward menacingly. "Utre get the boy and-"

When the angel lunged forward Coyote snapped his fingers and a table suddenly found itself between him and the angel. There was a crash, a clatter, and then Coyote and the angel were at each other's throats.

"Coyote. I am having a civil conversation. If you two flame-heads are done I would like to finish it."

He shot her the same look of affection tinged with amusement he always did, and Sam knew exactly what he was about to say even as the angel interrupted him. "My head is a perfectly normal temperature."

Coyote's jaw worked silently, and then he released the angel and took a step back. "Damn. Two of you. What could possibly be civil about a halo?"

Utre righted the glass that had fallen over in the initial attack and then caught the angel's electric blue eyes. "He was just agreeing to leave things in my hands. He believes it's the safest way."

The god looked once towards the angel, saw the nod, and then looked back to Utre. "And you trust him?"

"Implicitly." She smiles once, gently, and then turns to the angel. "It was a pleasure meeting you Castiel. I will endeavor to keep you informed."

The angel nodded to her, studied Loki for a moment, and then disappeared in a rush of wings. Beside Sam Dean stood perfectly still, every line in his body tight and tense. Sam almost reached for him, thought better of it, and let his hands hang. In front of them Utre was leaning over the bar watching as Coyote righted the fallen table.

"Why did you do that?"

The god looked up from his work almost confused. "I knocked it down. Seemed only fair to-"

"No. You know what I am saying. Why did you attack?"

"I-" He looked lost for words, and then he shook his head and forced a grin even as he spared a look Loki's way. "I love rousting halos."

She tilted her head for a moment and then leapt the bar easily and landed near him before grabbing his shoulders. "You did it for Dean. You were protecting Dean." She leaned in and placed a kiss on Coyote's lips, neither gentle nor chaste, and then stepped back and smiled so brightly it was painful to see.

Coyote's face was almost a blush, head ducking down as if he was unsure. "I noticed you didn't mention there were three angels that found the kid before him."

Utre shrugs, kisses Coyote again and then starts righting chairs. "What good would come of telling him I slaughtered his brothers? He would only be angry. He is more useful happy."

Sam looked Dean's way again, and saw his brother staring at Utre like she'd grown another head or begun speaking in tongues. This time he did reach for Dean, and his brother let him take his hand and hold it as if they weren't just coming out of some kind of fight. As if they weren't both at some animalistic edge.

"Do me a favor darling, don't tell the kid ok? Or anybody else. Don't want people thinking I've gone soft." Coyote was studying the line of her body as she bent for the last chair, and he let out a low whistle as the dress pulled just right.

She rolled her eyes at him affectionately and then stepped back and away. The smile dropped from her face. "I want you to promise me something. If it goes the way it is supposed to promise you will take care of Dean. Help him to be what he must. Promise you will tell him it is the only way."

Coyote's face wasn't tender anymore. It went hard in an instant, and he pulled back from her before turning to Loki. "Tell this crazy woman there's a way out Loke. Tell her how you climbed outta there."

Loki's formerly amber eyes are taking her in. The labyrinth can reproduce his smug grin, but not his eyes. He's short, Dean said he used to tease the god about it when he was a kid, and he stares at her for a long time before smiling casually at Coyote. "Yeah. Sure I could do that, but it's gotta be private. Can't be giving all the secrets away can I?"

Coyote hesitates for half a second, and then he leaves the bar without another word. As soon as the door closes Loki pulls a stool up to the bar and Utre takes the other side of it. "You killed three halos huh? Pretty decent for someone with your fanbase."

She took up a glass and filled it with one of the sickly sweet concoctions he always requested. "How do I tell him there is no way? You cannot spin a lie convincing enough."

The eyes go wide, wounded, and Sam's confused even as Dean's leaning forward and tightening up.

"Lie? I just wanted to relate my war stories for you, and how you apply them is-"

"Be quiet." She's gone raspy, thick, and Dean watches her eyes fly up and blaze harshly. "We both know you are not the real Loki. If you wanted revenge for your fallen brethren you would have done something by now. Keep up your mask all you want, but do not think I am fooled archangel. Your little brother almost smelled you tonight."

Loki, _not Loki_, looks up from his drink and the smile is gone. It's an expression Sam's never seen on the usually smug face. "If you go under he'll tell the kiddo to follow you. That fool is in love with you. He'll do anything to get you back whether he likes the WInchester boy or not. Even if the kid could, and that's a big damn if, get you reassembled how's he gonna get out? The Labyrinth will stop him at the door, or drag him back in as soon as his back is turned."

"Not if it cannot leave. Not if he binds it. He will be able to get out once he turns back. I have made sure." She poured herself a glass of vodka and sat carefully on the bar. Sam watched the way her hand moved slowly over the rim of the glass. "I have given him the first ring. Now will you play messenger or justice in this instance?"

Sam's head is spinning rapidly, and then it starts pulling the clues out of their broken conversation. An archangel in hiding, messenger and justice, and there it is. All the lore crashing together and he's gripping Dean too tight in his shock. All that's left is to decipher what the first ring reference is.

For his part the archangel looks faintly shocked 'til he gets control of himself. "You gave him the first ring? Just gave it to him? You coulda clawed your way out with that Sunny. What were you thinking?"

Sam tightened his grip on Dean, nodded toward the bag silently and his brother got the message. He pulled the little box out and moved forward, which was when the archangel's gaze shifted.

It happened so quickly that Sam could barely follow the genesis of it. Somehow the light fixture came loose, hurtled towards Dean, and then at the last second it jerked _just_ a bit to the left and missed him. Bad luck. Sam realized he was holding his breath when his lungs started to burn, and then he launched himself at the Labyrinth's representative, and the two of them slammed into the floor. Vaguely he heard Dean talking to Utre, but all he cared about was taking out the thing that almost killed his brother. It felt strange, the way all of them had felt, as if the flesh was only plastic covering some loose mass of soft stuffing. There wasn't the sense of organs or muscle underneath the skin, and he strikes again and again at the mass as behind him Dean tries to talk Utre into grabbing the box.

Then Dean is grabbing his arm, pulling him back, and suddenly it's Sam that has a rage problem. He shakes in the circle of Dean's arms, shakes so hard he thinks he might fall apart. Dean's arms are warm though, warm against his cold skin and reassuring. He can feel his brother's pulse, the rush of blood through Dean's veins as he hold Sam and murmurs softly, soothingly, and damn that is nice. It's nice to be held, nice to be here, and Sam wants nothing more than to burrow into Dean's warmth and take it into himself. He wants more than he should, and he starts to kiss skin, tastes sweat and _Dean_ as his tongue travels up the familiar jawline and towards Dean's mouth.

He's pushing his hands under Dean's shirt, touching smooth and tight muscles and skin even as he hears Dean's encouragements. Fuck the Labyrinth, this is happening and Sam isn't going to try to stop it. He reaches his destination, licks his way into Dean's mouth and slides a hand down into his brother's pants. They could just stay here. Just explore each other for an eternity and keep together, and no one would stop them. Here Dean wouldn't leave him. Wouldn't take off on some half-assed mission of mercy or justice or protection. Here they would always be one half of a whole and Sam wants that. Wants it so badly that even when Dean tells him to stop he's still pushing his hands further, seeking out the heat of Dean's cock and the taste of the back of Dean's mouth.

It isn't a kiss anymore, Sam can dimly register that, it's a method of devouring. He's not licking his way into Dean's mouth he's trying to consume his brother wholly and fully. To trap Dean into him until the end of time, because if he has to see Dean's back walking away from him again he'll go mad. Completely mad. So fuck the Labyrinth, and whatever they came for, because this is what's important. He's actually got Dean's jeans open, his hands sliding down to the prize when Dean pulls fully back and holds him at arm's length. There's desperation on Dean's face, desperation and lust and so many other things that Sam's own hunger cools a bit as he reads them.

"Sammy fucking stop it. We have-" he rubbed helplessly at his face, hands covering the mouth Sam had plundered until it was rosy and swollen. Which was when Sam realized Dean wasn't just being coy or trying to slow him down. He didn't want to because they were-

_Fuck_.

"Oh shit man. I'm sorry. I don't know what hit me there. It was just-shit." He was out of words, out of excuses, and the worst part was Dean didn't look like he blamed him. He'd been so fucking mad at Dean for losing control, and then he went and did it just a few minutes later. It was shameful, and yet there it was. Sam wanted to walk then, to just get out of Dean's sight until he didn't feel like such a bastard. Instead he stood very still as Dean tried to righten his shirt and re-zip his pants over the erection Sam had left him with.

They didn't touch as they went deeper.

* * *

The next room wasn't what Sam was expecting. It wasn't a memory or an exotic locale. It was simply a chamber, made of the same cold and weeping stone as the rest of the Labyrinth. The only difference was that Utre was in it, sitting quietly in the corner with her head down like a scolded child. Dean looked at him once, and then approached slowly as if he was afraid of startling her. He tilted her head upwards and Sam got a good look at her. It was more than he wanted to see.

Her eyes were that dull copper again, and her face was pale and drawn. She didn't look sick the way she had the last time he really saw her, she looked devastated. She stared blankly though Dean as if he wasn't even there, and for a moment Sam thought his brother had been struck silent by the sight of her like this. He wouldn't blame Dean, Sam couldn't find his own voice here.

There was a long pause and then Dean spoke softly. "Utre. Utre can you hear me?"

Her eyes focused, landed on him, and showed no sign of recognition or love. It was the worst thing that could have happened honestly, and the injury on Dean's face was perfectly plain. She licked dry lips and then nodded once as if that was all that he needed. Her eyes drifted past him, past Sam, and landed on some spot on the far corner of the room. Sam could hear the wind in this room, a gentle susurration that almost sounded like voices.

"Utre. Hey I need you to stand up ok? I came to get you."

She shook her head once and then lowered her eyes and closed them. Her hair covered her face when she turned it. "I cannot leave this place. It is where I am meant to be."

The noise Dean made was terrible. It was the sound of man who had been stabbed, gutted, and Sam crossed the room and took his brother's shoulder to show that he was still there. That Dean wasn't alone in this.

"Meant to be? Goddamn it Utre that's not true. Get up. You didn't earn any of this."

She pointed to the corner without looking up, her fingers shaking softly. "That is my sin. There. I had a son once. Do you know what it is to have a son? To be the sun? It is everything. I had a son and I failed him. I let him die."

Her hand lowered, but Dean grabbed it at the last second and pressed it to his lips softly. "I ain't dead sweetheart. I'm right here. Right here and I'm gonna get you out of here now. We're going away."

She didn't look up when he spoke, but Sam heard the wind pick up even if he couldn't feel it. "It was pride. Even a goddess can be filled with hubris. I thought I could stop it. Thought that if I killed every angel, manipulated all the gods, waited for when he could accept his love. I thought. But he is gone now and I am to blame. My most precious-"

Dean can't take anymore. Sam sees him reach his limit and vault past it in seconds. His hand covers Utre's mouth and he's pressing his face into her hair. "I'm here mom. I'm here can't you see me? I'm alive and I'm here and you gotta-please fucking just listen and come."

But Utre doesn't come, doesn't light up in recognition or reach for Dean. Instead she sits perfectly still with that look on her face and her mouth no doubt moving against Dean's hand. Which is when Sam realizes that it's not wind. It's the Labyrinth whispering to her, supplying her with all of this guilt and belief. Spurring her on to madness, to despair, and that's gotta stop. He steps into the little circle they've created and covers Utre's ears with his hands. Holds them there until he's sure that she won't get any of the exterior noise, but instead only hear the pulse no doubt pounding underneath his skin. Dean shoots him a strange look but Utre's eyes light just a little. There's recognition now, but it's filled with pain.

"Sweetling. Sweetling I am sorry. So sorry I-"

Dean gets it, rage fighting for a place on his handsome features, and then he smoothes them out and grips her harder. He meets Sam's eyes for half a second, and then replaces one of Sam's hands with his mouth. "Getting you out of here mom. Keep your ears covered and hold on ok?"

She slides her own tiny hands under Sam's big ones, and then Dean is lifting her like a doll and moving towards the entrance to the room. Sam realizes they still have gifts, and wonders why it never occurred to him that they would need the same sort of intervention to escape that they needed to get in.

* * *

The hallways twist and turn, and Sam pushes his way in front of Dean as best he can. If his brother is going to carry her then Sam had better be on point for the first bit of trouble. When they reach it though there's a half-second where Sam doesn't even realize he's in danger until he hears Dean's shout behind him.

He misses losing an eye to the thorns by mere inches, substitutes that pain with the ripping agony of the hand he uses to save it. There's blood, a lot of it, and then the pain is gone almost instantly and replaced by a numbness that reminds him of roots in a dark hallway. Utre's making a noise, and then Dean is there tilting his hand one way and another before wrapping a large section of hist shirt around Sam's hand as tenderly as he can.

"Look where you're going idiot." He sounds destroyed and Sam sees that the wild quality Dean has had for some time has dimmed considerably. Lips brush the undamaged back of his knuckles, and then his brother releases his hand and looks at the thorns. "Now what?"

Sam considers the bag and its contents before reaching in and digging around. He finds the jar he wants by the ambient heat it's giving off, and pulls it out before catching Dean's gaze. "I think this one will do it."

The grin he gets in response is almost gleeful. _Firebug_. Dean steps back and picks Utre up again before Sam unleashes the fire on the sharp thorns. It sweeps through them almost instantly, lighting the tunnels up and causing the temperature in them to soar to almost uncomfortable heights. Sam watches the way the fire races and twists, and those thorns must go all the way back to the beginning. He's given the idea almost instantly. "Keep up with the fire."

They run then, Utre bouncing in Dean's hold as the stone flashes past them. The fire sweeps ahead, and they use it to determine turns and twists instead of wandering aimlessly. Dean is glowing again, which means outside of the Labyrinth the second day has started. Vecher's time limit is approaching faster than Sam thought it would.

They reach a wide chamber where the fire has settled, and on the other side of the blaze Sam can see a great oaken door that looks a little like the one that marks the entrance of the Polaris. Sam hears the low noise and turns to see Dean clutching a much less put together Utre. Her fingers are missing, she's steadily dripping blood all over his brother, and the palms of her hands stutter along her ears as she flops in his grip. He's horrified to realize that this transformation is a good thing. It means they're close. So close. He turns back to see the fire burning steadily, and it takes only seconds to dig through the bag and find the jar of water. Which is when the screaming starts up.

At first Sam really thinks it won't be a big deal. Yeah, it's loud, and unpleasant, but he can handle that. Except then it takes on a personal aspect, and Sam realizes that the screaming is coming from voices he recognizes. He keeps having to look at Dean to reassure himself that his brother is standing, dripping both his and Utre's blood, but standing and not curled up with his face distorted in screams. He fights the fear as he uncorks the little bottle and pours it over the flames. The resulting wash of water is like a tidal wave, and Sam staggers back through it to find Dean leaning forward into the current and holding her steady.

"Fuck that's a lot of-" and then Dean was flying across the opening and slamming into the wall bonelessly as Utre dropped into the water. Sam had enough time to grab her up and then look to the thing in front of them. It was huge. He'd expected something impressive, and honestly it wasn't like he'd thought this would be easy, but _goddamn_. It took a second for his eyes to scan all the way up it, and the thing waited for Sam to be thoroughly impressed. A giant, ragged side dripping black ichor as it breathed thickly. The loincloth hanging around its hips was ragged and ugly, and its fists clenched before it struck at Sam. Which was when Utre pushed in his arms and they both slammed down into the water with the fist just brushing past them. Sam felt the bag slip off his shoulder and float one way, Utre the other, and his eyes flew to Dean. His brother was stirring in the water, and then the thing was striking again and Sam slid down under the water and along the floor. He felt stones cut through his thighs as he slid along just beneath the monster's flesh.

Dean. He had to get to Dean. He needed the bag, and Utre was unguarded, and this was a fucking catastrophe. He knew that logically, but keeping up with all of it as he barely managed to keep out of the giant's reach was a little bit harder than he'd expected. He managed to get underneath another blow, and suddenly a hot hand brushed his bicep and Dean charged forward and slammed into the beast's ankle. If they weren't in so much trouble Sam might have laughed at the way his brother bounced back and ass-first into the water. Instead he started splashing around desperately looking for the bag. There was another gift. The one from Wednesday, and Sam needed it. Needed it bad, even if he knew he'd never been trained with a spear. He could figure it out. Pointy end in- he heard his name and then the world exploded into white shards as he flew and slammed into the wall.

He could hear that rough voice screaming for him, but he also felt flesh against his. The thing shook the walls as it stomped across the room, and Sam looked up from his position on the floor to see the giant towering over him. Then there was a flash of yellow and white, and Utre was staggering fully upwards in front of him. Her mutilated hand lifted slowly, and then held in a gesture Sam recognized all too well. Kung-fu. Had to be Dean's influence, and was that warmth on the back of his neck water or blood, and then Utre was dropping something into his lap. A bag. _The bag_. Sam grabbed it up and fumbled through even as Dean shouted again and Utre staggered out of one blow's reach and took the next one. She flew like a rag doll, and Sam had the spear.

Honestly it was amazing how light it was. Considering the sheer size and power he knew it held he expected it to be heavier. Instead it fit his hand like he'd always held it, and Sam pushed his way up. Dean was across the room, one leg twisted awkwardly underneath him as he held Utre up and stared wide-eyed at Sam. So, broken leg, half-dead goddess, and it was up to Sam to end this. He dodged a blow, slid along the water, and then righted himself at the last second and thrust out with the spear. The first seven thrusts were misses, but the creature wasn't doing much better. Sam slid again, almost lost his footing, and then got back up and thrust the spear through the thing's achilles tendon. The resulting scream shook rocks loose from the ceiling and left Sam was an odd pressure on his ears and a deep tonal ringing. He cataloged it distantly as the spear ripped through the remaining flesh and the giant slammed to his knee, hobbled. Had to be his eardrums, probably busted, and Sam could feel the onset of a major headache that suggested head trauma beyond a simple scratch.

Sam was cold, colder than he'd even been before, but he could feel the door now. Feel the pull and the song of a world full of options. If he touched it he could decide where to go. He hadn't had much time after Vecher's kiss to consider what it felt like to have this sort of power, but this close to the exit he knew what had been given to him. Was this how Dean felt? No wonder he'd thought they would be untouchable, that there'd be no consequences if they stayed over, because Sam felt invincible. Felt like he could lift his head and howl down the world if he really wanted to. Instead he thrust the spear again, and used it to vault himself onto the giant's back. He ran, feet slipping along flesh that felt more like rock than skin, and then plunged the spear into the beast's spine as he screamed wordlessly. The Labyrinth made no sound, its body shaking and rupturing under him, and then he was scrambling his way down, falling half of it, until the water cushioned his blow and found himself near Dean.

There was one more step though. It couldn't be left to chance, and Sam knew it. They'd been given everything they needed in the careful order of Utre's memories, and Sam reached for his brother's hand and removed the ring without asking or thinking. The _first_ ring they'd said, and Sam had always been a collection of lore. Had always had a knack for remembering bits of legendary trivia. The thing was charged with punishing god's that had stepped out of line or failed in their duties. It was unchained, but he'd seen the gash in its side. Knew what that meant. The size of it, its hatred, and all the pieces tumbled together as Sam spied the little bit of rock hanging from the ring. He slid his way across the floor, grabbed its hand even as he heard the bones and nerves in the giant's spine regenerating, and then he slid the ring on.

Dean said he wore it on a chain until his fingers were the right size, and Utre had apparently never told him that was unnecessary. The metal expanded easily and slid onto the creature's finger, and then Sam was moving as the walls around them began to shake and crumble. He grabbed Dean under one arm, Utre with the other, and spear hanging underneath her he ran through the water as best he could while the sound level ratcheted up and up until Sam felt the wet heat of his own blood sliding from his ears.

He hit the door at full speed, and it gave under his push. They stumbled into the cellar they'd entered at the beginning, and Coyote was already there to take Utre from him before Wednesday grabbed Dean. Which just left Sam reeling as the door slammed behind him and the world fell oddly silent. He felt cold fingers, dry and cracked, and looked up to see Vecher holding his face. She spoke but Sam couldn't hear her over the buzz and the adrenaline, and then her lips pressed once against his, and he felt a flare of heat before his legs crumbled and the darkness consumed him.

* * *

Sam wakes up to Dean hovering over him. It's strange, because even if he knew at the time it was happening that they were both going feral in the Labyrinth it's only seeing Dean now that informs Sam just how bad it was getting. His brother's eyes are tired, heavily shadowed and sad, but they have a crinkle to them that suggests hope on a level Sam had almost forgotten. He tries to sit up but Dean presses one hand to his shoulder and shakes his head. "Uh-uh Sammy. You got serious head trauma. Stay put."

Which is when the nausea hits, and Dean's hand leads him onto his side and puts the pan forward, and once it's over the pan is gone and Sam's back on his back. June is there out of nowhere, and she helps Sam into a half sitting position so he can wash his mouth out and drink some water. Dean sits behind her, his left leg in a splint and his face pinched as he watches June tilt Sam's head back and forth before she nods thoughtfully. "Helios will take care of this. I promise. Then will you _please_ let him work with your poor leg dear?"

"Oh shit really? Dean you refused-Jesus man come on!" Sam's annoyed faster than he can think of why, and his head aches viciously in response. They all sound muffled and underwater, and he just wants to go back to sleep, but that's probably not on the menu. Concussions can be serious business. Instead a young man comes through the door and glances Dean's way once before sitting beside Sam. They've nodded at each other in the bar before, but Sam's never seen him look so serious and tired.

"Alright Samuel. Sit perfectly still and close your eyes." It takes less than a few seconds before the vicious clamp on his head is gone, and the rolling in his stomach finally ceases. What Sam is left with is a strange emptiness and the knowledge that he's fine, really fine, and no longer annoyed. Instead he feels warm, and pleasantly sleepy, and then when his eyes open Helios is holding Dean's leg and glowing vibrantly before he releases it and pulls the splint off. It happens all at once, and it's touching to see. Dean goes limp and June is leading him up the bed and settling him beside Sam. His brother's arm snatches him around the waist, and then Sam's surrounded by Dean's smell, and he falls asleep.

* * *

When he wakes up again Vecher is sitting in a chair beside the bed, and Sam looks around the room and realizes it doesn't have the same log cabin feel as the lodge did before. Which is almost troubling.

"Where are we?" There's the soft shift of cloth as Vecher repositions herself in the chair, and then her dark eyes settle on him.

"The original Polaris. My sister's creation instead of mine. How are you feeling?" There's an odd undertone, and for a moment Sam wonders if the worst has happened. If Utre didn't get better. Vecher sees it in his eyes and shakes her head. "She is damaged, but alive. They believe she vill pull herself together. In time."

He rubs at his forehead and looks over to see Dean snoring lightly into the pillow beside him. "I feel better. Can I see her?"

Vecher glances towards Dean and then nods. "Second door on the right. I vill stay here."

It takes longer than Sam thought it would to stumble to Utre's room, and he finds that all his muscles feel loose and wobbly. It's like someone dosed him with an incredible amount of muscle relaxers, but that's not probable because Sam would remember that. Also they're gods, and it seems odd that they would resort to pharmaceuticals. He pushes through the door and finds a broad room with a large picture window. It shows a night-time sky tinged at the edges with light, and that means Vecher won't be awake for much longer. He wonders vaguely if she'll wake Dean before she goes under, and then focuses on making it to the big bed. Utre is propped up on a large number of pillows, her face tinged with bluish light and still. Coyote is sitting beside her with his head on the bedspread, and Sam is reminded of his dream as Jimmy and Coyote's many aspects.

"How is she?"

Coyote doesn't look up. "Fingers may not grow back. Figure she'll find a way 'round that one but who knows? Helios says if the sun rises and she wakes up then she'll live. If she doesn't." There's nothing else in the sentence, and he doesn't look up. Sam rubs tiredly at his eyes before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"What'll happen to Dean if she doesn't?"

There's a tightness to his face, and he suddenly looks older and cagier than Sam's ever seen him. "Kid'll get ripped apart unless someone takes up for him."

"Will you?"

"I-" Coyote's blunt fingers rub at Utre's cheek, and then he sighs harshly before finally meeting Sam's gaze, "Yes. I promised her. So yes."

Sam felt Dean before he saw or heard him. Knew it was his brother's awareness and then when the hand settled on his shoulder he leaned his face against it and heard Dean's sharp inhale. Dean didn't ask though. He simply stood and waited with them.

It occurred to Sam that if his brother became the new sun god then a lot of things would have to change. They'd never be together at night again for one, and Dean would have worshippers. He'd outlive Sam, and if history had taught them anything Dean wasn't very good at outliving Sam. Still, they'd be together. Because Sam had learned that as bad as watching Dean walk away was, letting him walk away was worse. He had forced his way into the Labyrinth trip, and he could make Dean take him anywhere else. It wasn't out of his control anymore, and he'd be damned if he let his brother walk away again. They'd stick together, and if Dean had to endure the hatred of gods and goddesses then Sam would do it with him. Could do it with him.

He wasn't little Sammy afraid to lift the gun anymore, and he wasn't Jimmy paralyzed by indecision and rules. He was Sam Winchester. He'd spent time as a god, and he'd battled a titan, and he'd resurrected a dead deity. If they could do that then sticking together through whatever the other pantheons could throw at them should be a cakewalk. He loved Dean. He'd known it for a long time. Had resigned himself to it when he'd come to the bar. Had struggled with it when he realized it wasn't purely fraternal, but he knew it now. He'd seen the worst of Dean down there. The ugly and sharp bits that we hidden behind that charming smile and easy manner. He knew the animalistic side that could so easily come out, knew what Dean looked like when he was being a coward, had seen Dean at his lowest points humanly possible, and he still loved him. Dean had seen those same parts of Sam and didn't throw him away or judge him. They'd come out of the Labyrinth stronger, closer, and even now Sam could sense that no matter what happened here in this bed he'd still be the one Dean went for first. Still be the one Dean touched like this, and he'd be the only one. Forever.

It was heavy, startling, and Sam pressed his lips chastely against Dean's knuckles and watched Utre lying so still she could have already been dead and the three of them were simply attending her corpse. Which was when the sun broke over the horizon, and the rosy light landed on Utre's cheeks, and her eyes opened glowing and bright.

* * *

It took three hours for Dean to stop cursing at her. When he finally stopped to take a full breath and kiss her forehead Utre simply smiled at him.

"It is all over. Destiny averted." Utre took a deep breath and flexed her remaining fingers over the sheets before reaching out and gently rapping her knuckles against Dean's forehead. "I am fairly certain this is when you have victory sex with your lover. I have heard of such things at least."

"Mom we gotta talk 'bout boundaries and-ah hell-" Then Dean was up and pulling him down so that their lips locked together and his brother was licking into his mouth hot and wet. He moaned once and then Dean's blunt fingers were rubbing into the back of his neck and he felt all the tension in his shoulders release at once as those fingertips pushed into the muscles and sent tingles straight down into his cock. Time slipped away, and then a male throat clearing and a feminine giggle broke into the haze and Sam turned at the same time as Dean to look at Utre and Coyote.

"But in private sweetling. Dip your candle in private." Her smile is so broad Sam can't break it by correcting her, but he feels the way Dean's cheeks heat even as his brother begins to laugh.

"Wick mom. It's your-this has gotta be the most fucked up conversation in the history of forever. Even for us." And before anything else can be said Dean is leading him from the room, and then pushing his way into the first door he can find. The windows here are facing the sunrise directly, and Dean pushes him down into the soft bedspread before reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "Sammy this is-fuck I've wanted-"

"Yeah." He huffs out a laugh and then works on the buttons of his own shirt. "Yeah I know. I was thinking Dean-" He cuts off long enough to push his pants off and then struggle with his boxers, "-now what do we do?" Dean's doing the funny dance Sam's almost memorized as he tries to get his pants off at the same time as his shoes, and he pauses long enough to really look at Sam.

"Uh. Well we're gonna go at it. So there's that." He almost looks lost as he finally gets his shoes off, and then his brother is sitting mostly naked on the edge of the bed and rubbing at his hair. "But after that? I dunno man. What do you want to do?"

That gives Sam pause. He really thought Dean would have some kind of plan. That he'd want to hunt with dad, or maybe strike out on their own, or something. Now it's apparently being left in Sam's hands, and that's so unexpected Sam can't really come up with much. He's thinking about it as best he can with the distraction of a fully erect Dean across from him, and then he's not thinking about it at all because Dean's mouthing his way up Sam's thigh. They don't have any lube here, but they end up twined together on the bed with Dean's mouth wrapped around his cock and Sam licking his way up and down Dean's shaft. There's an odd tenderness about it despite, or maybe because of, all the intensity of the earlier energy. Every now and then Dean will release him and place wet, open-mouthed kisses on Sam's trembling thighs. It doesn't take long, and when they're both spent they just lie there, his head on Dean's thigh and Dean's face pressed against his hip. Sam falls asleep that way, and when he dreams it's something new and odd. He's in that dark lake again, the one the demon took him to before, but this time there's a moon in the sky and a bony hand holding his that makes him cold but soothes him at the same time.

He knows without looking that it's Vecher, and he squeezes the fingers once and feels them squeeze back.

"If she'd died what would you have done?"

Vecher's silence is long and serious, and then her bony fingers stroke the back of his hand at a strange angle. "I vould have given you my powers and died vith her. Let the two of you know the pain of being separated." There's a ferocity there that belies the gentle nature of her fingers. "Have you decided vhat you and your brother vill do?"

Sam laughs softly, the moon twinkling above them so large it's like they're floating in space instead of water. "We're going to stay together. I figure the rest will sort itself out. First though, somebody's got to help her reestablish the bar, and I think that'll be us."

Her fingers squeeze his hand again and then release him, and he's floating free in the water as the moon continues to glow above him. "She was right. Your love for your brother is a beautiful thing. This does not make it any less stupid or destructive, but beautiful nonetheless."

Sam turns his head then, but she's already gone and he's floating alone. That would scare him, but he feels Dean even now. Even here. That's enough for him.

* * *

Utre's fingers are growing back slowly. It's been four months, and they're short nubs that pain her whenever she tries to use them. Dean works hard to make sure she doesn't. The little gods stop by regularly to donate items or help with some of the heavy lifting, but Sam can tell that Dean knows how to put the bar together, and his brother stays in charge no matter what happens. They work through the days, and fall into bed at night sometimes too tired to even kiss each other. They leave dad voicemails, but neither brother is surprised when he doesn't respond. Whether he's ashamed of himself or simply too busy it doesn't really matter. He'll get in touch with them when he's ready, and in the meantime they can just enjoy things the way they are.

When they finally get the new bar in order Sam peers around the town it's set in and then finally asks Utre what he's been wondering this whole time. "Where exactly are we?"

Utre's cheeks are rosy, and her eyes sparkle as she downs another two shots. Dean's glazed over drunk and pointing a finger at Coyote every time he leans in too close to Utre. Sam's half-sure it will come to blows. They've spent the day re-dedicating the door so that it opens on the different homelands of the pantheons. One of the Incan goddesses staggers over and sits beside Utre as she peers around the table.

"We are in Keystone, Colorado. I am fairly certain it was the smallest town they could find in a squeeze."

"Pinch." Dean and Coyote say it together, and then go back to glaring. Sam considers reaching out to touch Dean and calm him down, but he hesitates too long and then the Incan goddess is holding his hand.

"Have the two of you ever considered children?" She smiles broadly and Dean goes completely silent. Coyote's eyes are twinkling, but Utre begins to shake her head.

"What? Yeah. Yeah Sammy's always wanted kids. House and fence. Dogs. Ain't that right Sammy?" Dean's grin is the textbook definition of _lascivious_, and Sam's not sure what to do with it. He's fairly certain there's an undercurrent to this conversation he's not getting, because Coyote looks entirely too pleased and Utre is practically seizing a denial.

"Well it's certainly achievable boys, and I've never gotten either of you a gift before so-"

"Absolutely not Ocllo. There is no way. Take your hand back Samuel." He studies Utre for a second before pulling his hand back, and Ocllo looks unperturbed. He'll have to research her later and see what that was all about. She leaves the table and Coyote begins to whine about how Utre has had all the fun sucked out of her.

Sam would pay attention, honestly he would, but something Utre says back makes Dean laugh, and he's so in love with the guy at that moment he forgets himself a bit. Forgets that he's in a room full of the kind of beings that could crush them with a thought, forgets the wealth of knowledge available at his fingertips, the dizzyingly broad and confusing paths laid out before them, the challenge of figuring out what they are with nothing after them, how he'll get back into contact with Bobby and Missouri, dad…all of it just sort of fades away. Dean's eyes are crinkled at the corners, his mouth open and turned up, and Sam watches the way his chest moves and how his fingers play against his thighs as he shakes with mirth. Watches and wonders how he ever lived without this.

Which is when Thor falls through their table with a crash and a very angry looking Hephaestus hefts his hammer and shouts across the bar, "Keep your dirty Viking hands off of my wife!"

Utre's head is shaking and Coyote is doubled over with laughter. Wednesday is half out of his seat shouting encouragements at his son, and Dean is moving to grab Sam and pull him back from the fight that's about to break out. He can hear his brother shouting over the din, "We just fixed the goddamn place! You break it you fix it assholes!"

How did he ever live without this?

* * *

"All I'm saying is you'd like it if you gave it a chance."

Sam puts his fork down and takes Dean in with a long and serious look. "It's a heart attack on a plate Dean. You're going to be dead in five years eating like that."

Dean bats his eyelashes and smiles seductively, and Sam has to swallow down the lust mixed in with his ire. "Aw baby, you know if I keeled over you'd follow me down. What else could you do?"

"Salt and burn you before finding someone who doesn't think foreplay is softcore porn and a bag of Skittles." He keeps his response dry and Dean has the decency to look vaguely ashamed before he gets indignant.

"One time Sam. Once. I was tired and I thought you were too."

"Well when most people are tired they just don't have sex Dean. I would think that would be obvious. Now about this-"

"Sammy-" It's a whine, and Dean realizes it when Sam narrows his eyes. He clears his throat and modulates his tone. "Look if you're that upset about it I could make it up to you. I got some moves I haven't pulled out yet."

It's been four years since the Labyrinth, and Sam and Dean have settled into a routine. They've found it's easy to split their time between hunting and the bar, as soon as someone taught them the door trick. In between hunts they simply park the Impala somewhere safe and then use a doorway to enter Polaris and spend time with Utre. She has real windows now, and Sam's really glad for that. He likes to see Dean in the first light of morning, face soft and relaxed in sleep, and he likes to see the moonlight over his brother's shoulder. He likes the view, he likes the feel of home, and he likes to see Utre fully functioning once again and perfectly happy to see them.

At the moment though they're clearing up an issue with a Bokor thirty miles outside of New Orleans. Sam is honestly sick of dead animal pieces, but they're no closer to finding the guy than when they started. Chicken blood and skulls aside it's still better than witches. There's something inherently vindictive in all the witches he's encountered that's missing in this. However fucked up it is Sam finds something comforting in it just being ritual instead of personal. Which doesn't change the fact that this guy has a body count of five and if it climbs any higher Sam's pretty sure Dean's going to lose what little trace of humor he has left.

Sam's half-tempted to call Utre, because she probably knows the gods the Bokor is calling on, and she may be able to get them some intervention, but Dean insists that's the easy way out, and apparently they never take the easy way out.

"Look, Dean, this is not the time for-" The woman that sits down with them has an easy smile, and her hair is pulled into a high set of dreadlocks that curve around her face like snakes. Her skin is creamy, face perfectly structured and drop dead gorgeous. Sam doesn't miss the way Dean's eyes travel along her red silk dress, up the valley of her breasts, and over her face to her dark brown eyes. Doesn't mind it either because he's just as taken as his brother is. The cigarillo dangling from her lips smells sweet and Sam gets a hint of sex and vanilla from her.

"You be Utre's boy. The one who survived the Labyrinth right?" Her voice is sweet, light, and makes Sam want to touch her. _Touch something._

"Yeah-yes ma'am. I'm Utre's boy. I don't recognize you from Polaris. Should I?" There's a subtle undertone to Dean here. Something a little like challenge mixed in with his obvious lust.

She extends one hand, bones perfectly balanced and fine under her cappuccino colored skin. "I am Erzulie, and no you wouldn't. My people don't spend much time with the likes of your mother. I respect her goals though, and I ain't gonna let her child come to my home without a proper welcome and an offer of help."

Sam knows his brother is going to deny the offer for help, but he also knows the Loa don't often show up without some sort of offering. That this one has come at all is a feat, and Sam may not know much about her, but he knows she radiates power. Knows she shouldn't be rebuffed or denied. "That would be wonderful. Do you know who the Bokor is and who they're working with?"

"Marinette." There's a look here, something that cuts through the sensuality and hints at aggression, at hatred. "Your Bokor be working with Marinette, and I am willing to help you find him. All I need is your permission."

"What do you mean permission? You need our permission to give us information?" Dean looked suspicious, and Sam didn't blame him, because he had a pretty good idea what it was Erzulie was asking for.

"To be riding you I need your permission. You say yes that is all it takes." Her fingers stroked Dean's hand first, Sam's cheek second. He felt himself lean into the touch even as he questioned the urge. "Such pretty boys. I take care of either body. You be needing me, and I'd be so careful."

* * *

Sam looked around the room at the devastation, cut his eyes over to his brother who was holding his strangely canted arm together, and then back to the bloody mess of the Bokor.

"Dean."

"Don't say it Sam. We have no idea what 'riding' meant, and I'll be damned if we'd-"

"Dean-"

"-just let some crazy lady into our head like it was-"

Sam let Dean ramble as he activated the door and pushed it open. They stumbled, bloody and messy into the bar, and then Utre was grabbing Dean and Shiva caught him. The two deities shared a look over their heads as Dean continued like they were still standing in the destruction.

"-and the easy way always ends in misery. So this was the _best_ choice Sammy and I stick by that." He took a deep breath, looked up, and then frowned in confusion. "Mom?"

"Sweetling. Sam. Rough day?"

Since Dean was unconscious Sam answered for him. "We decided the easy way was too easy."

Shiva nodded thoughtfully and helped Sam over to the bar. "Yes. That looks like it worked out well."

And honestly? Even though Sam spent the next month riding Dean's ass about it as his brother refused to let anyone heal his battle wound, even though it left him with a nasty scar and a bad taste in his mouth, and even though Sam knew it would be years before they could return to that particular city it did work out well.

As long as they were together it always did.


End file.
